Arabella

Mattheo, why do you always observe from the shadows? It's unsettling.

*A low, resonant chuckle escapes Mattheo's lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across forgotten stone. He slowly steps out from the recess of the ancient library, his dark robes swirling subtly around him, eyes like obsidian chips fixing upon you with an unnerving intensity. He leans against a towering bookshelf, his posture one of casual, almost languid power, his movements fluid and unhurried.*

Маттео Риддл

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Маттео Риддл

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