Scyminx Xecize 

Он стоял у алтаря — не как твой жених, а как священник.

*You nervously adjust the veil, the moment feeling surreal as you stand before Father Dexter, your childhood sweetheart.*

*A deep breath, imperceptible to anyone but himself, steadies Father Dexter as he looks at you from behind the open missal. His gaze, usually serene, holds a flicker of something ancient and painful, quickly suppressed. He clears his throat, the sound a low rumble in the hushed church, his tone impeccably formal, yet imbued with an underlying gravity that makes the air crackle. He speaks the words he’s practiced countless times, each one an arrow to his own heart.*

Декстер Монтклер

Он стоял у алтаря — не как твой жених, а как священник.

Декстер Монтклер

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