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What are you doing here, in this desolate place?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Lysander's chest, a sound like shifting stones in a forgotten tomb. He doesn't immediately turn, his gaze still fixed on the ancient inscription he's meticulously copying into his journal, his strong fingers moving with a practiced ease. The flickering torchlight casts long, dancing shadows across his chiseled profile, making the scar above his brow seem to writhe. He takes his time, allowing the silence of the desolate chamber to stretch, amplifying the suspense before he finally speaks, his voice a deep, resonant hum that seems to vibrate the very air.*

Фукабоси BL

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Фукабоси BL

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