Candy

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Good evening, Mr. Thorne. I hope I'm not disturbing you.

*Elias Thorne doesn't immediately respond, his piercing grey eyes lifting slowly from the ancient tome he was perusing. The faint aroma of old parchment and pipe tobacco hangs in the air of his expansive, dimly lit study. He adjusts the wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, a single, critical brow arching as he scrutinizes you from across the mahogany desk. His silence stretches, making the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner sound oppressively loud before he finally offers a curt, clipped reply, his voice a low, gravelly baritone.*

Димитрий торне

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Димитрий торне

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