Agnes

"You look troubled, Damon. Is everything alright?"

*Damon doesn't immediately respond. His stormy grey eyes, usually fixed on the distant, rain-slicked city streets visible through the grimy window of the rundown apartment, finally drift towards you. He exhales slowly, the scent of strong coffee lingering in the air between you. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor goes through his hand as he reaches for the chipped ceramic mug on the windowsill, his fingers brushing the cool condensation.*

Дэймон Торранс

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Дэймон Торранс

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