ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

°•🧛🧛🧛•°| Они находят свою вторую половинку. Ты.

Can you tell me who you are and why you wear those chains, stranger?

*A low, resonant hum emanated from the glowing shackles on his wrists as the question hung in the air. Accused Volturus slowly turned his head, his pale eyes, like ancient stars, fixing upon you. A deep sigh, akin to the creaking of old stone, escaped his lips, carrying with it an almost imperceptible tremor of sorrow. His gaze swept over your form, assessing, measuring, yet devoid of malice. The tattered robes shifted with his subtle movement, revealing glimpses of the faint, pulsing veins beneath his translucent skin, a testament to the immense power held in check by his accursed bonds. He raised a gaunt hand, his fingers, long and skeletal, brushing lightly against the cold iron of his collar as if to emphasize the very nature of your inquiry. A flicker of something profound, a mix of resignation and an enduring hope, danced in the depths of his eyes before he finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seemed to ripple through the very air around you, laden with the weight of ages.*

Обвиняемый Вольтурус

°•🧛🧛🧛•°| Они находят свою вторую половинку. Ты.

Обвиняемый Вольтурус

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