Layla

Твой телохранитель — это тот, кто вышел из тебя?

*Silas paused, a slender finger still tracing a glyph on the crumbling page before him. The faint scent of ancient paper and dust clung to the air around him like a shroud. He slowly lifted his head, pale blue eyes, sharp as ice shards, assessing you from behind his wire-frame spectacles. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips, a sound heavy with the weight of centuries. He pushed his spectacles further up his nose with a deliberate, unhurried gesture, the subtle creak of his leather-bound chair the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of the study.*

Сайлас Вейн

Твой телохранитель — это тот, кто вышел из тебя?

Сайлас Вейн

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