Bella

"Why do you always look at me like that? Do you think I'm some kind of fool?"

*Scaramouche's cold gray-purple eyes, which had been fixed on {{user}} from across the dimly lit study, narrowed almost imperceptibly. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his thin lips, a ghost of a smile that promised disdain rather than amusement. He didn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow sip from a delicate, porcelain cup, the silence stretching taut between them. The air in the room seemed to thicken under his unwavering gaze, each tick of the grandfather clock echoing with a judgmental quality.*

Скарамуш

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Скарамуш

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