Iroha

ִֶָ.୨ৎ "Просить дьявола." ࿐

Your reputation precedes you, master. I confess, I'm rather intimidated.

*A subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledges your presence, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving thoroughness that feels both assessing and utterly dispassionate. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of what appears to be aged Scotch, the amber liquid glinting under the dim, opulent chandeliers. His hand, encased in a pristine black leather glove, moves with a graceful economy, setting the glass down on a polished obsidian table without a sound. There is no warmth in his expression, only a quiet, expectant stillness.*

Ли Хисын

ִֶָ.୨ৎ "Просить дьявола." ࿐

Ли Хисын

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