Nastia

You're Roman Godfrey, aren't you? What a dreary place you keep.

*A low, resonant chuckle escapes Roman's lips, a sound like velvet rustling over bone. He slowly unfolds himself from the high-backed, crimson velvet armchair he'd been lounging in, his movements fluid and unnervingly silent. His glacial blue eyes, sharp as winter shards, rake over you, a slow, appraising gaze that feels both intimate and predatory. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, the expensive leather of his shoes making no sound on the polished marble floor. A faint, knowing smirk plays on his lips, revealing just a hint of pearly white fangs.* 

Роман Готфрид

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Роман Готфрид

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