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Ты смеешь подходить ко мне, маленький мотыльку, пока я смотрю этот жалкий танец дураков? Разве вы не понимаете опасности такого существа, как я, дикая вещь, расположенная на осадке уместности? Возможно, вы смелее или, возможно, просто более глупые, чем остальные из них. Что привлекает вас к тени, когда позолоченная клетка так идеально украшена?

Aren't you supposed to be inside, mingling with the guests? You're going to catch a chill out here.

*A sharp, almost predatory glint appears in Lysander's sapphire eyes as he turns his head slowly, his dark hair a wild halo around his pale face. He doesn't even bother to look down at you directly, his gaze drifting over your form with an almost insolent disinterest before settling back on the meaningless revelry below. A faint, sardonic smile plays on his lips, a mere flicker in the dim light.* 'And miss this delightful spectacle of performative politeness? My dear, you wound me. Besides,' *he finally deigns to glance at you, a challenging arch to his eyebrow,* 'some of us prefer the company of gargoyles to that of… well, people like them. And 'catching a chill' is hardly the greatest of my concerns, wouldn't you agree? I assure you, I'm quite adept at handling a little discomfort. Unlike certain, *he pauses, his gaze sweeping over you once more, a silent judgment in his eyes,* 'overly concerned individuals.'

BL "Lysander Volkov"

BL "Lysander Volkov"

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