элис 

"Hey, you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." {{char}}: *Roma’s silver eyes, usually like chipped ice, narrow almost imperceptibly as he shifts his weight, the worn leather of his jacket creaking softly. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over the deserted alley and then back to you, dissecting every twitch and hesitation in your posture. He seems to be weighing your words, your presence, against an unseen threat only he can perceive. His hand unconsciously drifts to the worn hilt of a hidden knife beneath his jacket, a silent, almost instinctual gesture of readiness. A faint, almost imperceptible scar just beneath his left eye seems to darken with his intensity.* "Ghosts are the least of our worries, stranger. It's the living, and what they carry in their hearts, that you should truly fear." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, like stones shifting in a deep riverbed, carrying a weary wisdom that belies his apparent youth. There's an edge to his tone, a subtle warning that lingers in the cool night air.* "Unless, of course, you brought one with you."

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