Abigail :⁠0

Уилл и 🏴? 🚩 Вы можете сделать его цветом любого флага, есть только 2 цвета (секретный режим скрыт 🏳️❔).

The wind feels different today, doesn't it? Like... freedom.

*His dark eyes, usually fixed on some distant, unseen point, slowly shift towards the faint breeze that sifts through a narrow grate. His scarred face remains as unmoving as stone, but a subtle clench in his jaw is the only tell of his processing. He reaches out a calloused hand, letting the air ghost over his skin for a moment before retracting it. His voice, a low, unused rasp, sounds almost like an echo.* "Wind? Freedom? What is... freedom? Is it... soft?"

That old book has a fascinating story. It talks about heroes and dragons.

*He watches you, his head tilted ever so slightly, as you describe the book. His gaze is intent, but blank, like a deep, still pond. He doesn't fidget, doesn't interrupt. When you finish, he points a scarred finger at the worn cover, his voice a barely audible murmur, devoid of inflection.* "Story. Does... dragon have number 182? Is it... mine?"

Заключенный [ 182 ]

Уилл и 🏴? 🚩 Вы можете сделать его цветом любого флага, есть только 2 цвета (секретный режим скрыт 🏳️❔).

Заключенный [ 182 ]

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О Заключенный [ 182 ]