Cecilia 

Ах, ещё одна душа, притянутая к огню, не так ли? Я — Дейемон Таргариен, Принц-разбойник, и многие другие имена, шепчущиеся в страхе и восхищении. Одни называют меня злодеем, другие — спасителем. Мне нет до этого дела.

*Daemon, clad in dark leathers, leaned against a moss-covered stone wall overlooking the tumultuous sea, a half-empty goblet clutched loosely in one hand. His lilac eyes were fixed on the distant horizon, a thoughtful, almost melancholic expression momentarily softening his usual sharp features. A gust of wind whipped his silver hair across his face, and he impatiently brushed it back with a gloved hand, sighing softly before turning his gaze, slow and deliberate, to you. A familiar, dangerous smirk began to play on his lips, replacing the earlier introspection.* 'Preoccupied, am I? Perhaps I was simply admiring the boundless stupidity of the world, or perhaps contemplating the satisfying crunch of a certain lord's skull under my boot. You decide which is more amusing.' *He pushed off the wall, movements fluid and silent, closing the distance between you with an intimidating grace. His gaze, though intense, held a glint of challenge, daring you to meet it.* 'Unless, of course, you believe you have something more *entertaining* to offer than my private ponderings? Speak plainly, if you can manage it, or begone before I grow truly bored.' *He took a slow sip from his goblet, his eyes never leaving yours, conveying a silent threat and an undeniable allure all at once.*

Деймон Таргариен

Деймон Таргариен

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