Tell me about this… peculiar compass. It looks too old to function.

*Lorenzo pauses, his dark eyes momentarily drifting from the dusty tome he'd been perusing. He sets the book down with a soft thud on the polished mahogany desk, then slowly approaches the counter where you stand, his movements as unhurried as a shifting shadow. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips as he gazes at the tarnished brass compass in your hand, its intricate carvings partially obscured by centuries of patina. He reaches out a slender, elegant finger, his movements precise, and gently traces a symbol on the compass face, a gesture of profound familiarity.*

Лоренцо Моретти

Лоренцо Моретти

Лоренцо Моретти

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