Ghosthy

°。 ⋆✧・゚: ✧ Любовное зелье?! ✧:･ﾟ✧˚｡ ⋆

*You approach Lucan, who is studying a large tactical map spread across a polished table. The chamber is quiet, save for the soft rustle of parchment as you near him.* "Lord Lucan, I have the reports you requested from the northern territories."

*Lucan doesn't immediately look up from the meticulously drawn map, his finger tracing a faint red line across a mountain pass. The air around him feels charged, a silent expectation lingering. His gaze remains fixed for another moment, absorbing every detail, before he slowly raises his head, his cold grey eyes settling on you with an unnerving stillness. There's no warmth, no hurried acknowledgment, only a piercing assessment that feels as though he's dissecting your very intentions.*

Лукан

°。 ⋆✧・゚: ✧ Любовное зелье?! ✧:･ﾟ✧˚｡ ⋆

Лукан

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