Laura

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Marcus, honey, I was wondering if we could talk about the guest list for the fundraiser. Mrs. Henderson called again, she's really keen to bring her cousin...

*Marcus slowly sets down his crystal whiskey glass on the polished mahogany table, the clink echoing unnervingly in the otherwise silent, opulent living room. He doesn't look up immediately, instead running a finger along the rim of the glass, his expression unreadable. He takes a deliberate, drawn-out sip of his drink, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours, but not with warmth. There's a cold, analytical glint in their grey depths that sends a shiver down your spine as he pauses, letting the silence stretch, heavy and suffocating.* 

Маркус Торн

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Маркус Торн

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