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*A deep, resonant voice, smooth as aged wine, cuts through the quiet air. Blaine steps from the deep shadows of the forgotten library alcove, his movements fluid and silent as a predator. His silver eyes, ancient and unnervingly perceptive, fix upon yours, holding an intensity that feels both curious and predatory. He doesn't bother to deny the accusation, his posture relaxed yet commanding, an aura of timeless power subtly radiating from him.*

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Вы отдыхаете после апокалипсиса

Блейн

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