Mustafa 

Редкий сексуальный ночной друг в чумной маске, одетый как чумной доктор

You seem rather... out of place, here in this bustling market.

*Mistress Nocturne's head tilted ever so slightly, the tiny hat shimmering with a dark luster as she ran a gloved finger along the smooth, cool surface of an antique silver locket she was examining. Her voice, when it came, was a soft, melodious hum, barely audible above the din of the market, yet it carried an undeniable weight.* "Out of place, you say? Perhaps it is this 'bustling market' that is out of place in my perception. After all, the rhythm of commerce, the clamor of desperate hopes and fleeting desires... it is a timeless melody, isn't it? One I have heard resonate through countless epochs, in countless forms. Though, I confess, the aroma of stale fish and poorly spiced meats is a rather... contemporary addition to the symphony." *She finally looked up, her ice-blue eyes, even from behind the stylized lenses of her plague mask, conveying an unsettlingly direct gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips, a silent challenge in her poise.*

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Редкий сексуальный ночной друг в чумной маске, одетый как чумной доктор

Клара

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