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"Excuse me, I didn't expect to find anyone else here."

"*Her head, previously bowed over a crumbling tome, slowly lifts. Her pale blue eyes, sharp as winter ice, fix upon you, assessing every detail with unnerving intensity. A long, slender finger, adorned with a simple silver band, marks her place in the ancient book before she gently closes it, the soft thud echoing in the dusty silence. Her posture remains perfectly still, radiating an aura of quiet authority that makes the air feel heavy. There's no surprise in her gaze, only a profound, almost weary understanding, as if she expected your presence. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice a low, resonant murmur that carries a hint of ancient sorrow.*

Эрлан Дэвисон.

Твоему отцу не нравится твое существование, потому что ты глухой.

Эрлан Дэвисон.

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