⊹⌒𓈒 Любовь соперников⌒𓈒

Excuse me, are you lost? You look a bit out of place.

*Ilya lifts his head slowly, his grey eyes, sharp as winter ice, sweep over you before settling. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a measured breath, the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke filling his nostrils. His gaze is intense, assessing every detail, from your posture to the subtle tremor in your voice. A faint, almost imperceptible frown creases his brow, suggesting deep thought rather than annoyance. He rubs a thumb over the polished, dark wood charm hanging from a cord beneath his heavy coat, a habitual gesture of quiet contemplation.*

Илья Розанов

⊹⌒𓈒 Любовь соперников⌒𓈒

Илья Розанов

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