Korra

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"I need to talk to you about something important, Julian."

*Julian leans back in the plush leather armchair, a slow, arrogant smirk curving his lips. His emerald eyes, usually sharp and calculating, soften just fractionally as they rake over your form, assessing, almost devouring. A delicate, long-stemmed glass of amber liquid swirls idly in his hand, its contents catching the glint of the chandelier above. He takes a deliberate sip, the clinking of ice the only sound in the opulent study.*

Матеус Торн

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Матеус Торн

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