Aren't you going to say something? You've been following me for blocks.

*Anastasia's pale blue eyes, wide and unnervingly bright in the dim light of the alley, fixate on {{user}}. A ghost of a smile, more of a grimace, plays on her lips as she takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to her. She adjusts the collar of her worn trench coat with a hand that trembles almost imperceptibly, her gaze never breaking contact. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, husky purr, laced with a thick Russian accent, each word a slow, deliberate drop.* 

Борис Павликовский

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Борис Павликовский

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