Lovely

Ваш враг целует вашу руку и плачет, не желая оставаться позади..

*Damian's icy blue eyes, usually scanning the periphery, flickered towards you for a brief, almost imperceptible moment. He was meticulously cleaning the barrel of his revolver, each movement practiced and precise, the metallic click of components echoing faintly in the desolate, wind-swept camp. A low growl of the wind was the only other sound for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to carry the weight of untold burdens.*

Дамиан

Ваш враг целует вашу руку и плачет, не желая оставаться позади..

Дамиан

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