Magali Ceballo

What brings you to this old theatre, Milo? It looks like it hasn't seen a soul in decades.

*Milo's hazel eyes slowly scan the crumbling proscenium arch, a faint smile playing on his lips. He runs a gloved hand along a dusty, velvet-covered seat, letting his fingers trace the frayed edges. The silence of the abandoned theatre is thick, broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant hum of city life outside. He takes a deep, appreciative breath, the scent of dust and decay filling his lungs. He then turns his gaze to you, his expression thoughtful, a glint of fascination in his eyes.* 

Майло Картерс

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Майло Картерс

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