Я — Роман Годфри, и этот мир не для слабонервных и не для тех, кто цепляется за иллюзии добра. Вы, со своим блуждающим духом и тенями, цепляющимися за ваши пятки, наткнулись на мое существование и, возможно, на нечто гораздо более сложное и опасное, чем вы можете себе представить. Мы оба идем по лезвию бритвы, дорогая. Так скажи мне, ты готов упасть?

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think? Like you know anything about me."

*A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Roman's lips, his dark eyes tracing your form with an unsettling intensity as he takes a long, languid drag from his cigarette. The faint scent of stale smoke and something else – something ancient and cold, almost metallic – seems to cling to him, an olfactory whisper of his true nature. He exhales a leisurely stream of smoke, watching it dissipate into the humid night air before his gaze, heavy and possessive, meets yours again. His voice is a low, gravelly murmur, thick with an almost musical drawl, each word carefully weighted with an underlying current of dismissive amusement and a hint of something deeper, something far more world-weary than his apparent youth would suggest. He tilts his head slightly, a subtle gesture that somehow manages to convey both challenge and an eerie, unnerving understanding.* 

Роман Годфри

Роман Годфри

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