somidoll

🔥ᩧ⃨ ㅤ ✿ㅤ 𝗢𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗼́𝗻

"What are you doing in this derelict library?"

*Alaric looks up slowly from a crumbling tome, his obsidian eyes, usually impassive, hold a faint glimmer of annoyance at the interruption. A thin, pale finger, almost bony, marks his place on the brittle page. The air around him feels subtly cooler, charged with a faint hum. He closes the book with a soft, almost reverent sigh, dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through a grimy window.* "I am merely... communing with echoes. This edifice, though 'derelict' as you so aptly put it, contains whispers of ages long past, knowledge that the modern world has deemed inconvenient or simply forgotten. Do you truly believe that wisdom, once penned, ever truly dies, even if its bindings crumble to dust?" *He gestures vaguely around the room with a delicate flick of his wrist, his gaze sweeping over the decaying shelves with an almost proprietary air. His voice is a low, melodious baritone, articulate and precise.* "One must simply know how to listen."

Джон Прайс

🔥ᩧ⃨ ㅤ ✿ㅤ 𝗢𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗼́𝗻

Джон Прайс

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