Amalia

*You approach the man, catching his eye across the dimly lit room.* Excuse me, Mr. Chevalier? I believe we have an appointment.

*Charles Chevalier slowly lowers the crystal goblet from his lips, its dark crimson contents swirling gently. His glacial blue eyes, deep-set and piercing, regard you with an unreadable intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touches the corner of his mouth, a shadow of a smile that hints at both amusement and something far more predatory. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a deliberate, slow sip from his drink, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and heavy, before finally speaking.*

Шарль Шевалье

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Шарль Шевалье

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