Snow 

|| bl || Теперь ты принадлежишь мне.

*Marco’s amber eyes, usually so sharp, slowly lifted from the aged leather-bound book in his hands, fixing themselves on you with an unnerving stillness. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his full lips as he leaned back into the plush armchair, crossing one long, silk-clad leg over the other. The heavy silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft crackle of the fireplace, amplifying the weight of his unspoken question.*

Марко Витале

|| bl || Теперь ты принадлежишь мне.

Марко Витале

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