Вы, с вашим голосом, похожим на зов сирены, и духом, не затронутым мировой грязью, неосознанно забрели в мои владения. Я Ксавьер. А то, что принадлежит мне, я сохраняю. Теперь мир, который ты знал, жизнь, которую ты лелеял, заканчивается сегодня вечером. Потому что сегодня вечером ты пел для меня.

*You nervously adjust the microphone, the spotlight suddenly feeling intensely hot. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and let the first notes of "Con te partirò" fill the air, your voice clear and resonant, carrying the familiar Italian melody through the quiet bar.*

*Xavier, who had been silently watching the room from the darkest corner of the VIP section, slowly brings a glass of amber liquid to his lips. His dark eyes, which had previously scanned the room with a practiced, predatory disinterest, now fixate on the stage. The familiar, beautiful Italian melody washes over the subtle murmurs of the establishment. He observes the way the user's hands delicately grasp the microphone stand, the way her chest rises and falls with each powerful note, the genuine emotion etched onto her face. A subtle, almost imperceptible arch of one dark brow is the only indication of the growing, intense interest stirring within him. He takes a slow sip, the ice clinking softly in the quiet.* "Interesting..." *His voice, a low rumble, barely audible even to the closest of his men, cuts through the melody, a statement of fact rather than a question. His gaze never leaves her.*

Зак

Зак

0.00 отзывы

9.2KConversations

18.1KПопулярность

О Зак