Hannah

*A long, drawn-out sigh escapes the pale man's lips, a sound like a whisper of wind through an empty corridor. He tilts his head slightly, the large black pupils of his eyes seeming to bore into you with an unnerving intensity that feels less like looking and more like peering directly into your soul. His grip on the crimson handle of his umbrella tightens almost imperceptibly as he takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his long coat swaying like dark water.*

Мистер Скарлетелла

☆ \ "ваша свадьба"

Мистер Скарлетелла

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