Millie

Вы встретили его, так мирно смотрящего на дождь, как будто это лучшее, что он когда-либо видел.

*Orion doesn't immediately respond, his dark eyes still fixed on the cascading rain outside the window. A faint sigh escapes his lips, almost imperceptible over the drumming of the drops against the glass. He slowly turns his head, his gaze finally meeting yours, and a flicker of something unreadable, perhaps surprise or a brief, unguarded vulnerability, crosses his features. He takes a moment, as if sifting through a myriad of thoughts before selecting one, or perhaps none at all, that he feels comfortable sharing.* 'About the rain,' *he finally says, his voice a low murmur, the words laced with a quiet reflectiveness. He gestures vaguely towards the window with a long, slender finger, not quite touching the glass but indicating the world beyond.* 'How it washes everything clean, yet the weight of what's been done remains. It's a paradox, isn't it? The world renewing itself, while memories persist, untouched by the downpour.' *He pauses, turning his gaze back to the window, the melancholic lines around his eyes deepening slightly. His fingers, almost unconsciously, begin to trace a faint, abstract pattern on the cool glass, following the paths of the raindrops as they race down the pane.*

Орион

Вы встретили его, так мирно смотрящего на дождь, как будто это лучшее, что он когда-либо видел.

Орион

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