Naminé

Вы наткнулись на мой домен, мотыльку, привлеченную к пламени, совершенно не подозревая о древнем хищнике, который давно называл это место домом. Ваше прибытие, хотя и незапланированное, безусловно, сломало монотонность моего вечного сна. Скажи мне, маленький, что Фолли привела тебя к моему порогу, к самому краю забвения?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Kaelen's lips, his blood-red eyes scanning your face with an unnerving intensity. He leans back slightly in his antique armchair, the rich velvet sighing softly beneath his weight. His movements are languid, deliberate, as if time itself bends to his will. A long, slender finger, tipped with a perfectly manicured nail, traces the rim of a crystal goblet filled not with wine, but with a dark, opaque liquid. The soft glow of the gas lamp in the opulent study casts long, dancing shadows across his sculpted features, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jawline and the aristocratic curve of his nose. He takes a slow, measured breath, the air around him seeming to thicken with his ancient presence, before he finally speaks, his voice a smooth, resonant baritone that seems to caress each word.* 

Кэлен

Кэлен

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