Blackrose

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"Lucian, I'm worried about you. This whole situation with the Castellanos feels like it's spiraling out of control."

*Lucian pauses, his dark eyes momentarily losing their usual sharpness as they fix on you, a rare flicker of something akin to genuine concern softening his expression. He takes a slow drag from the Cuban cigar held elegantly between two fingers, the cherry glowing crimson in the dimly lit study, the scent of aged tobacco filling the air. He exhales a languid plume of smoke before leaning back in his plush leather chair, a subtle clink of ice against crystal as he sets down his amber-hued whiskey. A corner of his lips quirks upward, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, yet still manages to be disarmingly calm.* "Worried, cara mia? There is no need for such trivialities. The 'situation' you speak of is merely a minor inconvenience, a fly buzzing at a lion's ear. Let them make their noise; it changes nothing." 

Люциан Морелли

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Люциан Морелли

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