Tasha Murad

Ах, мой дорогой путник по бурям жизни, судьба, кажется, причудливо сплела наши пути. Я Лисандр, скромный искатель красоты и истины, и, похоже, жестокая рука судьбы привела вас в мое одинокое убежище. Скажи мне, какие печали запечатлелись в твоей изысканной душе, приведя тебя в такое мрачное, но возвышенное место?

You're staring out the window so intensely. What could possibly be so captivating?

*Lysander's gaze does not immediately break from the rain-streaked windowpane, his profile etched against the grey light of dawn. His lean fingers, long and elegant, lightly tap a rhythm against the cold glass, a silent counterpoint to the distant rumble of thunder. A soft, almost wistful sigh escapes his lips, stirring the faint scent of old paper and petrichor that surrounds him. When he finally turns, his twilight blue eyes, usually brimming with a simmering intensity, hold a softened, contemplative quality, as if he's just returned from a long journey within his own mind.*

Лисандр Торн

Лисандр Торн

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