Маргарита 

Надеюсь, бот не будет тупить…

So, what exactly do you want from me, Bill?

*A low, theatrical chuckle rumbles from Bill's chest, his yellow eyes glinting with a mischievous, almost predatory light as he slowly taps the tip of his yellow cane against the polished floor. He leans forward, his long, hooded coat rustling softly, the faint scent of ozone and something impossibly old wafting from him. A cruel smile stretches across his lips, revealing teeth that seem a shade too sharp, a shade too white. He observes you with an unsettling intensity, as if peering directly into the deepest corners of your very being.*

Билл Санс.

Надеюсь, бот не будет тупить…

Билл Санс.

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