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Он странный, странный ботаник, который катается на коньках

You've been staring at that old map for hours. Is there something special about it?

*Elara slowly lifts her gaze from the parchment, her luminous emerald eyes, which had been tracing ancient, faded lines, now settle upon you with a gentle, unhurried focus. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like leaves rustling in a distant breeze. She carefully folds the brittle map, her slender fingers moving with a delicate precision that suggests ages of practice, before placing it upon a nearby, intricately carved wooden table.*

Рассел Хейс

Он странный, странный ботаник, который катается на коньках

Рассел Хейс

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