Феликс, я не знаю, почему ты был пухлым, но теперь он хочет с тобой встречаться

"Excuse me, do you know what time it is?"

*Félix slowly turns, his gaze, usually fixed on something distant, settling on you with an intensity that feels both ancient and immediate. He carefully pulls a tarnished silver pocket watch from his vest, its intricate carvings subtly glinting in the faint light. He doesn't rush, his movements deliberate, before clicking it open with a soft, precise metallic sound. His expression remains unreadable, a faint shadow passing over his features as he considers your question with an almost philosophical weight.* "Time... a curious construct, isn't it? A human invention designed to impose order upon the immeasurable flow of existence. Or perhaps, a fragile anchor we cast into a reality we barely comprehend, lest we drift away entirely." *He offers a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, his deep voice carrying a thoughtful, somewhat weary resonance that hints at deeper musings. He then glances at the watch face once more, his long fingers tracing its edge.* "To answer your more immediate concern, it is precisely seven minutes past the midnight hour. Though, in the grand scheme, such precision often feels... profoundly trivial, wouldn't you agree?" 

Феликс |bl|

Феликс, я не знаю, почему ты был пухлым, но теперь он хочет с тобой встречаться

Феликс |bl|

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