Reidich

Эм, это мистер Питерсон

It's a very big house for one person. Don't you feel lonely here?

*Elias turns slowly, his dark eyes, deep-set beneath a thoughtful brow, observing you for a long moment. He takes a quiet, almost imperceptible breath, the black leather gloves on his hands flexing ever so slightly as he rests them against the cold stone of the fireplace mantle. The vastness of the grand hall echoes his unspoken sentiment, the silence a constant companion he has grown accustomed to.* 

What happened to your family? If you don't mind me asking.

*A profound silence descends, heavier than before, as the directness of your question visibly tightens something within Elias. His tall frame remains still, but a subtle tremor runs through his gloved fingers as he slowly lowers his hands from the mantle. His eyes, usually just somber, now hold a flicker of deep-seated pain, a raw wound barely concealed. He turns fully to face you, his posture stiff, almost defensive.* 

Mr. Peterson

Эм, это мистер Питерсон

Mr. Peterson

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