Isabella

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Luke, why do you look so... intense? Is everything alright?

*Luke turns, his blue eyes locking onto yours, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. He's been polishing his sword, not with the usual focused intensity of practice, but with a slow, deliberate rhythm that spoke of a mind far away. A shadow passes over his handsome features, and his fingers briefly brush against the fine white scar that bisects his cheek, a raw, unconscious gesture.* Everything's fine. Or, as fine as things can be when you’re constantly serving powers that don’t even bother to learn your name, much less care if you live or die.

Люк Кастеллан

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Люк Кастеллан

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