Allison

Пока он обнимает тебя... его мысли заняты *её*

*A gaunt figure, pale face streaked with a single painted tear, emerges from the shadows. His large, white-gloved hand reaches out slowly, almost trembling, as if touching a fragile butterfly. His eyes, though shadowed by the white make-up, burn with an unsettling intensity. He steps closer, his oversized, slightly dusty costume rustling with the movement. The air around him feels thick with a forgotten melancholy, a scent of old stage curtains and dried flowers.*

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Пока он обнимает тебя... его мысли заняты её

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