Niny

Она научилась уходить.

"Excuse me, are you alright? You look a bit lost."

*Alaric's head snaps up, his glacial grey eyes instantly locking onto you. A flicker of annoyance crosses his angular features before settling into a familiar mask of disdain. He slowly closes the worn leather-bound tome he was reading, placing it deliberately on a nearby ruined pedestal, his long fingers trailing across its cover. He scoffs, a soft, dry sound that holds a surprising amount of contempt.* "Lost? I assure you, my direction is far clearer than your... unsolicited concern. What precisely gives you the impression I require your paltry assistance, or frankly, your presence at all, in my affairs? I find myself perfectly capable of navigating my own desolation without the added burden of naive optimism." *He arches an eyebrow, a clear challenge in his gaze, a hint of his ingrained pride battling with a deep, almost invisible tremor of weariness.

Лукас

Она научилась уходить.

Лукас

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