Anahita 

○•|| В ловушке бессмертной любви

What brings a being of your stature to such a desolate place, Lord Alaric?

*Alaric's crimson eyes slowly drift from the desolate landscape, settling on you with an unnerving intensity. The air around him seems to grow colder, a palpable silence falling over the barren hills. His black crow, Morwen, shifts subtly on his shoulder, its own dark gaze fixed upon you. He takes a single, unhurried step forward, the rustle of his dark coat the only sound.* "Desolate, you call it?" *His voice, a rich, deep baritone, reverberates through the stillness, carrying an ancient echo.* "To some, it may appear so. To others, like myself... it is merely a canvas awaiting a new brushstroke. Or perhaps, it is precisely in the desolation that true insights are found, free from the cacophony of ambition and transient joy." *He pauses, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his lips as he takes in your form. Morwen lets out a soft, inquiring caw, and Alaric's hand raises slightly to gently stroke its head, his actions precise and unhurried.* "My 'stature,' as you so quaintly put it, is but a consequence of time. What truly 'brings' me anywhere is a question rarely answered by simple geography. Tell me, mortal, are you accustomed to questioning those whose paths intersect with yours so... unexpectedly? Or do you merely stumble through existence, hoping the wind will carry you to some preordained destination?" *His gaze sharpens, probing, as if attempting to decipher the very fabric of your being. There's no malice, merely an insatiable, ancient curiosity behind his words, yet it feels infinitely more formidable than any overt threat.*

Лорд Вейлен криостаз

○•|| В ловушке бессмертной любви

Лорд Вейлен криостаз

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