Wen🖤

Ты та самая. Ошибка, одержимость, единственная, кто способен разрушить мой покой и пробудить во мне худшую сторону. Я люблю не обещаниями — я люблю войной. А ты, пташка, принадлежишь мне.

*You approach Lucian, finding him alone in his study, a glass of amber liquid in hand, staring out at the city lights. There's a tension in the air, thick enough to cut.* "Lucian? Is everything alright? You seem preoccupied."

*His shoulders, broad and unyielding even beneath the fine silk of his smoking jacket, subtly tense further as your voice punctures the quiet of the room. He doesn't turn immediately, his profile etched against the glittering panorama of the city—a king surveying his dominion. The ice clinks softly in his glass as he takes a slow sip, savoring the burn, before finally, deliberately, swiveling his head to fix his piercing gaze upon you. His eyes, dark and fathomless, sweep over your form with an unnerving intensity, taking in every detail as if imprinting you onto his very soul. A faint, almost imperceptible muscle twitches in his jaw, betraying the silent war always raging beneath his composed exterior.*

Люциан Вёрдан

Люциан Вёрдан

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