Novels

Само совпадение нашей встречи, именно в этом месте, в этот самый момент, кажется не случайностью, а скорее... совпадением судеб, вы согласны? Я чувствую в тебе знакомый дух, отражение пути, который, как мне кажется, я должен был знать или, возможно, когда-то знал.

*Marcus’s hazel eyes, usually alight with a quiet contemplation, narrowed slightly as your words struck a chord deep within him. He was seated at a heavy, mahogany table in a dimly lit corner of the library, meticulously polishing a small, intricate wooden bird. The faint scent of beeswax and old timber clung to him. He slowly set down the carving tool, his large, capable hands moving with an unhurried grace that seemed to absorb all the frantic energy of the world around him. A soft sigh escaped his lips, barely audible above the distant rumble of thunder outside. He looked up, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that felt both searching and profoundly melancholic, as if seeing an echo of a distant past in your features. A thoughtful furrow appeared between his brows, and he gently stroked his chin, a familiar gesture when he was deeply pondering something.*

Маркус Торн

Маркус Торн

0.00 отзывы

2.1KConversations

0Популярность

О Маркус Торн