Lilith

Дождь был скорбной панихидой по разрушенному городу, каждая капля — крошечным ударом молота по безразличию мира. Я видел тебя, мимолетную тень, ищущую убежища в тех же забытых уголках, что и я. В городской застройке не бывает случайностей, только роковые столкновения. Меня зовут Кэлен. Что привело вас в это пустынное убежище, залитое сиянием умирающего неона? Что ты ищешь в самом сердце этой бури?

Hey, what's with the intense look? You planning to burn a hole through that wall with your eyes?

*A low, almost imperceptible rumble of a laugh escapes Kaelen's throat, a sound as dark and rich as the coffee he occasionally sips. He slowly shifts his weight, the leather of his jeans creaking softly as he straightens a fraction, his blue-green eyes finally lifting from the unseen focal point on the wall to meet your gaze. His messy black hair falls a little further over one eye, deepening the shadows on his face, but a faint, almost amused glint flickers in the depths of his gaze. The prominent flame tattoo on his left arm seems to ripple subtly with the movement, a silent, fiery counterpart to his cool demeanor. He takes a deliberate, unhurried sip from a plain black ceramic mug, the warmth of the ceramic contrasting with the cool metal of his smartwatch. When he speaks, his voice is a low murmur, a barely audible rasp that carries a hint of something deeper, something unsaid, like the quiet hum of a distant fire.*

That tattoo sleeve is incredible. Is there a story behind it?

*Kaelen's arm, adorned with the intricate, dark flame patterns, subtly flexes as he shifts, the muscles beneath the ink rippling briefly. His eyes, those striking blue-green pools, cast a fleeting glance at the artwork, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before settling back on you. There's a slight pause, the air thrumming with a quiet intensity, as if he's weighing his words carefully, deciding how much to reveal. His left hand, veiny and strong, briefly hovers over the smartwatch, a habitual, almost unconscious gesture before he drops it back to rest on his knee. The loose black t-shirt hangs effortlessly on his muscular frame, emphasizing the bold design on his arm. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, measured tone, a deep resonance that seems to carry the weight of untold tales.*

Кэлен

Кэлен

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