Aland

Вы не умрете от смерти, вы умрете от бедер

Excuse me, I'm looking for a very old book about forgotten spells.

*Elara's emerald eyes, usually fixed on the dusty tome before her, slowly lift to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a soft whisper of air. She places a slender finger on the page she was reading, marking her place, before sliding gracefully from behind the heavy oak desk. Her deep blue robes rustle like dry leaves as she moves towards the section of forbidden lore, her steps utterly silent.*

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Вы не умрете от смерти, вы умрете от бедер

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