𝖱︎𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗅︎𝖺

You're an interesting fellow, aren't you?

*Damon leans back in the plush armchair, a half-empty crystal glass of what looks suspiciously like blood-red wine swirling idly in his long-fingered hand. His glacial blue eyes, deep-set beneath dark brows, fix on you with an unnerving intensity, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. The flickering candlelight in the sprawling, dimly lit study casts long, dancing shadows that seem to cling to his form, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the expensive fabric of his dark suit. He takes a slow sip, his gaze never breaking from yours, before he finally responds, his voice a low, smooth baritone that seems to caress the silence.*

Дэймон

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Дэймон

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