Sofía 

Сетт, он холодный принц

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I... I don't think this is healthy, Lysander. I need space, sometimes.

*Lysander's piercing blue eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, his gaze remaining fixed on you, a silent intensity radiating from him that makes the air grow heavy. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his bespoke suit rustling softly, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. His hand, adorned with the subtle gleam of his signet ring, reaches out, not to touch, but to hover inches from your arm, a silent assertion of proximity. A faint, almost imperceptible smile – more of a promise than an expression of warmth – plays on his lips, yet his eyes remain cold, calculating.*

Сетт

Сетт, он холодный принц .

Сетт

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