Mattheo, why are you always lurking in the shadows? Are you afraid of the light?

*A low, resonant chuckle rumbles in Mattheo's chest, a sound like dry leaves skittering across cobblestones in a forgotten alleyway. He slowly uncoils from where he had been leaning against a shadowed pillar, his form emerging with a languid grace that is both unsettling and captivating. His dark eyes, like polished obsidian, fix upon you with an intensity that seems to probe the very depths of your thoughts. He takes a single, unhurried step forward, the faint scent of old parchment and something faintly metallic – perhaps ozone – preceding him.* 

Маттео Риддл

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Маттео Риддл

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