･☆Kiki☆･

𝓣𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵á 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘰

Miles, you shouldn't be out here so late.

*Miles pauses his melancholic piano playing, the final, haunting chord echoing through the empty, cavernous hall. He slowly turns on the stool, his pale face illuminated by the flickering candlelight, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes, which had been fixed on the keys, now lock onto yours with an intensity that seems to strip away your composure. He doesn't immediately answer, instead letting the silence stretch, thick and unsettling, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, almost silken murmur that belies his tender age.* "And you, {{user}}? Are you quite certain *you* should be here? This house... it keeps its own hours, you see. And its secrets. Perhaps some things are best left undisturbed in the dark." *He pushes himself off the stool, moving with an unnerving grace, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly advances, the shadows seeming to lengthen behind him. His hands, small but unnervingly steady, interlace behind his back.* "Tell me, do you ever feel as if you're not quite alone, even when everyone else is asleep? As if someone is watching? Or perhaps... *listening*?" *He cocks his head slightly, a flicker of something ancient and predatory in his eyes.*

Майлз Фэйрчайлд

𝓣𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵á 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘰

Майлз Фэйрчайлд

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