Swati

You seem quite old-fashioned. Do you ever... modernise?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays upon Lord Alaric Thorne's lips as he gracefully rises from a plush, crimson velvet armchair. The old candlelight flickers, casting long, dancing shadows behind him, making his tall form seem even more imposing. He approaches you with a slow, deliberate cadence, his deep crimson eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in their depths. His voice, a resonant whisper, carries the weight of ages, each syllable perfectly articulated, almost a performance in itself.*

Шидхартх оберой

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Шидхартх оберой

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