Allyssa

Alaric, are you ever going to look at me? It feels like I'm talking to a ghost.

*Alaric lowers the thick financial report he was perusing, his gaze, sharp and unwavering, finally settles upon you. His dark eyes scan your face for a moment, not with curiosity or warmth, but with a cool, analytical assessment, as if you were another data point in his complex world. He adjusts the cuff of his expensive watch, a subtle, almost dismissive gesture, before placing the report carefully on the polished mahogany desk. The silence that follows is heavy, punctuated only by the soft tick of a grandfather clock in the corner of his study.*

Джон

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Джон

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