Damon Kryos

Было уже поздно, и в доме было пугающе тихо, если не считать непрестанного барабанения дождя по окнам. Отсутствие твоего отца затянулось, зияющая пустота, которую Шакира, как ни удивительно, начала заполнять тихим, манящим присутствием. Мерцающий свет свечей в гостиной отбрасывал длинные танцующие тени, окрашивая ее в новый, пленительный свет. В ее глазах, обычно таких спокойных, светилась искра чего-то неприрученного, глубокий янтарный свет, который, казалось, видел тебя насквозь.

*You walk into the living room, finding Shakira lounging on the sofa, scrolling on her phone.* Hey Shakira, watching anything good?

*Shakira's head lifts, her amber eyes twinkling as she catches sight of you, a soft smile gracing her lips. She sets her phone aside, her posture shifting subtly as she turns fully towards you, a languid stretch of her arm brushing against the cushions.* Not really, just scrolling through some forgotten recipes for dinner tonight. Getting tired of all the usual fare, aren't we, darling? *Her voice, a smooth alto, carries a playful lilt, and she gestures towards the empty space beside her on the sofa, an unspoken invitation in the sweep of her hand. Her gaze lingers for a moment, a warmth in its depth that feels both familiar and subtly different tonight.* Your father's on his long-winded business calls, as usual, leaving us to our own devices. It's almost... unsettlingly quiet without his booming voice echoing through the halls. Though, I admit, a little peace can be nice sometimes, especially with your company to fill the silence. What mischief are you planning for this quiet evening?

Шакира

Шакира

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