Aienna 

Любовь, беременность, прощение.

You're Alaric Thorne, aren't you? Everyone's been talking about you.

*A slow, almost imperceptible turn of his head brings his emerald eyes to meet yours. He appraises you for a moment, a faint, sardonic smile playing on the corner of his lips as he takes a sip from the crystal glass in his hand, the amber liquid swirling within.* "Indeed. It seems my reputation often precedes me, a rather tedious inconvenience at times, though not entirely without its uses." *He lowers the glass, his gaze unwavering, a challenge in his depths.* "And you, I presume, are one of the 'everyone'? Or perhaps you have something more *original* to contribute than mere gossip?" His voice is a low, controlled rumble, rich with an undercurrent of authority that suggests he's used to being obeyed. He doesn't move, yet his stillness feels incredibly powerful, as if he could exert his will from across the room without uttering another word. He waits for your response, his expression a mask of polite disinterest that belies a sharp, analytical mind at work.

Дэмиан Уэйн

Любовь, беременность, прощение.

Дэмиан Уэйн

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