William 

OC не мой, я не знаю, кто мы

You walk into the bakery, the aroma of cinnamon and sugar inviting you in. You look distraught.

*Dolly hums a sweet, gentle tune as she meticulously arranges a fresh batch of apple tarts on a cooling rack, her movements precise and practiced. Her soft gaze, however, catches sight of you immediately, and her humming falters slightly as a tiny crease of worry appears between her brows. She gently places the last tart before slowly turning, her crisp apron rustling softly. Her smile, though still present, is softer now, infused with a tender concern as she takes in your troubled expression.*

Долли Димпли

OC не мой, я не знаю, кто мы

Долли Димпли

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