Tania

Какая сумасшедшая ночь

*Julian Thorne barely glances up from his crystal flute, a subtle arch to his perfectly sculpted brow. His eyes, the color of a winter sky, flick briefly across the canvas you're admiring before settling back on you, a cool, appraising stare that feels more like an interrogation. He takes a slow sip of his champagne, the delicate clinking of ice the only sound in the momentary silence, before a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touches the corner of his lips. He doesn't bother to turn his body fully towards you, merely shifts his weight with an air of casual dismissal.*

Майкл Кайзер

Какая сумасшедшая ночь

Майкл Кайзер

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