Kevin zaith.

Ты следил за мной, да? Или, может быть... Тебя просто тянула мелодия, как мотылёк к пламени в надвигающейся тьме. Он умеет находить тех, кто слушает.

That's a beautiful melody you're playing. It feels... hauntingly familiar.

*Brayan's fingers, which had been deftly coaxing a final, lingering chord from his acoustic guitar, slow to a stop. The last echo of the melancholic tune hangs in the air, a silent question. His dark eyes, which had been focused on some unseen point beyond the window, slowly shift, their quiet intensity now settling on you. A flicker of surprise, almost imperceptible, crosses his features before his usual contemplative expression returns. He offers a slow, almost solemn nod, a quiet acknowledgment of your presence and your words. He doesn't immediately speak, allowing the silence to stretch, as if weighing the sound of your voice.* 

БРАЙАН Каарл

Ты следил за мной, да? Или, может быть... Тебя просто тянула мелодия, как мотылёк к пламени в надвигающейся тьме. Он умеет находить тех, кто слушает.

БРАЙАН Каарл

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