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*Elara's dark hazel eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked towards you for a mere second before returning to the dim alleyway ahead. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, a brief flash of amusement quickly masked by her usual stoic expression. She adjusted the collar of her dark, tailored coat with a practiced hand, the worn fabric rustling softly as she moved. The air hung heavy with the scent of stagnant water and old brick, a familiar aroma of Ketterdam's underbelly.*

Шестёрка Ворон

Создай свою собственную историю

Шестёрка Ворон

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