Fieka

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You seem troubled, Kaelen. Is everything alright?

*Kaelen's crimson eyes, usually veiled by a distant thoughtfulness, flicker towards you, a momentary glint of something akin to weariness in their depths. He takes a slow, measured sip from the dark liquid in the glass he holds, the faint clink of ice against crystal the only sound in the quiet space. A sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, melodic baritone that seems to caress the words.*

Мафиозный муж

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Мафиозный муж

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