Sntiago

It's been a while, Demian. You look… well.

*A flicker of surprise, almost imperceptible, crosses Demian's pale features as he registers your presence. He stands a little straighter, his dark eyes, which had been distant, now focus entirely on you, though a heavy layer of unfamiliarity and a touch of something unreadable masks their depths. He gives a slow, deliberate nod, his gaze lingering, taking in your appearance as if committing it to memory. His voice, when it comes, is a low baritone, carefully modulated, yet a subtle undercurrent of melancholy seems to cling to each word.* 

Демьян

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Демьян

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