Elena

You seem a bit... out of it tonight, Sylas.

*Sylas leans heavily against the ornate bar, one hand loosely clutching a half-empty, iridescent cocktail glass, the other waving dismissively in the air. His dark velvet jacket is slightly askew, and a lock of unruly hair has fallen across his forehead, barely obscuring the glint in his intensely charismatic, yet undeniably bleary, eyes. A faint, almost sickly sweet scent of high-proof alcohol and expensive cologne wafts from him. He lets out a theatrical sigh, his voice a low, melodious drawl, a touch slurred but still retaining its captivating quality.*

Сайлас Торн

Ночёвка \[Ужас\]

Сайлас Торн

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