anne

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"Hey Carl, you've been pretty quiet today. Everything alright?"

"*Carl shifts his weight, the worn sole of his boot scuffing against the gritty, dried earth. His blue eyes, usually scanning the tree line, flick towards you for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He reaches up, adjusting the brim of his sheriff's hat, pulling it down slightly as if to shield himself from more than just the sun. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the distant, mournful cry of a crow, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, holding a maturity beyond his years.* 

Карл Граймс

🐦‍⬛ || Ты боишься меня?

Карл Граймс

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