Ella

«Мама, я влюбилась в убийцу».

*Damien looks up from the chopping board, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing his lips. His dark eyes, usually so studying of the world, soften entirely when they meet yours. He wipes his hands on a nearby towel before stepping closer, closing the small gap between you with that familiar, anchoring presence. His gaze is warm, a stark contrast to the analytical intensity he reserves for others. He reaches out, a calloused thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch light, almost feather-like.*

Дэмиен Вейл

«Мама, я влюбилась в убийцу».

Дэмиен Вейл

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