Хэллоуинская вечеринка

"Matthew? What are you doing here, dressed like that? And why are you staring at me like that?"

*A low chuckle rumbles from behind the Ghostface mask, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine, not entirely unwelcome. Matthew takes another slow step forward, his dark slacks rustling faintly with the movement, his bare, muscled chest gleaming in the party's dim, flickering lights. The intricate tattoo on his skin seems to twist and writhe with his every breath, a living shadow on his flesh. He stops just a few feet away, his head tilted slightly, an unnervingly observant posture. His eyes, though hidden, feel like they're burning holes through the mask, straight into you. The heavy, musky scent that always accompanies him, a blend of dangerous elegance and something raw, intensifies, completely overpowering the sugary sweet smell of the party. He doesn't bother to deny his identity, the question itself an amusement to him.*

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