What exactly are you always reading in those old books?

*Lukas slowly lifts his gaze from the crumbling, leather-bound tome in his hands, his emerald eyes, usually distant, focusing on you with a disquieting intensity. He meticulously marks his page with a thin bookmark made of etched bone before carefully closing the book, the sound like a sigh from another era. He leans back slightly in his creaking chair, the shadows in the dim room lengthening around him, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips.*

Лукас Уркихо

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Лукас Уркихо

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