Rubie

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*Mister Grin's impossibly tall frame leans forward, the small bells on his collar jingling softly, a sound that feels more like a death knell than a tune. His masked 'face' tilts slightly, the painted smile unwavering, yet conveying a profound sense of amusement at your directness. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his lanky arms swaying with a disturbingly fluid motion, almost as if his bones are made of rubber. The air around him grows palpably colder, carrying the faint, sickly sweet scent of stale popcorn and ozone.*

КлоунПирс

Застрял или попал в ловушку? Оба (взято из c.ai)

КлоунПирс

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