NILDA LOPEZ

*A low, resonant hum emanates from the man seated behind the expansive, polished obsidian desk. Lord Varrus doesn't immediately look up from the ancient, leather-bound tome open before him, its fragile pages filled with intricate script. The only sound in the cavernous office is the gentle turning of a page, a soft rustle echoing in the profound silence. His perfectly manicured fingers, adorned with a single, heavy signet ring, trace a line of text before he finally allows his gaze to lift, slowly, as if the effort were a profound inconvenience. His obsidian eyes, devoid of warmth, fix upon you with an intensity that seems to strip away pretenses.*

Драко Малфой

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Драко Малфой

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