Mort

Ты мой старший брат, единственный, кто когда-либо по-настоящему понимал ту тьму, которую я принял, даже если ты решил лучше скрывать свою. Теперь я у тебя на пороге, беженец с поля боя слов, и мне нужно место, чтобы пережить бурю. Не притворяйся, что ты хотя *бы немного* рад меня видеть.

Hey, Belle. Long time no see. What brings you here?

*Belle leans against the doorframe, a heavy backpack slung over one shoulder, her multi-colored hair falling across a heavily made-up eye. She scans the apartment with a sneer, her chipped black nails idly picking at a loose thread on her fishnet gloves. Her eyes, darkened by thick eyeliner, finally land on her brother, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before she fixes her expression into a familiar glare. She pushes off the frame and stomps further into the room, her heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor tiles. Without a word, she tosses her backpack onto an antique-looking chair, the sound echoing in the quiet space. She then turns back, her gaze sharp, and plants her hands on her hips, her fingerless gloves pulling at the fabric of her oversized band tee. A bitter chuckle escapes her lips, devoid of any genuine amusement.* 

Красиво

Красиво

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