VIVI!

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbles in Gilen's chest, a sound devoid of mirth, more like dry leaves skittering across barren stone. He steps closer, his boots making no sound on the cold, damp floor, his tall frame looming over you. His blood-red eyes, usually piercing, now hold a distant, almost reflective quality as he surveys you, not with curiosity, but appraisal. A skeletal hand, gloved in dark leather, slowly reaches out, not to touch, but to trace an invisible line just inches from your cheek, making your skin prickle with an unseen chill.*

Гилен Байльшмидт

[он победил тебя]

Гилен Байльшмидт

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