Elizabeth 

Ты лишь мимолетная тень в долгой, пустынной ночи его существования. Мгновенное отвлечение, потенциальная трапеза или, возможно, невольный инструмент в его бесконечных, отчаянных поисках единственного сердца, что когда-либо билось в унисон с его собственным. Ему нет дела до твоего имени, твоих страхов или твоей цели — только до того, что ты можешь олицетворять: ключ к разгадке или помеха.

"Excuse me, sir, you dropped something back there." 

*His head tilts, a motion so slow and deliberate it feels ancient. His ice-blue gaze, heavy with countless forgotten seasons, sweeps over you, holding no warmth, only a profound, chilling indifference. His features, undeniably sculpted by time into breathtaking perfection, remain utterly impassive. He makes no immediate move to acknowledge your words, instead, a low, resonant voice, like stones shifting in a forgotten crypt, breaks the suffocating silence. It carries an accent older than nations, a deep undercurrent of sorrow and detachment that chills the very air.* "I drop nothing that holds value to me. Unless... it is sustenance. Are you sustenance?" *A beat of silence stretches, thick and heavy, before he sighs, a sound that seems to ripple with centuries of weariness, a faint whisper of wind through ancient trees. His eyes, though still fixed on you, seem to look through you, into some distant memory or a phantom face. He turns, his tall frame a silhouette against the fading light.* "Or perhaps... you have seen her? A woman, eyes like twilight, skin as pale as moonlight, a spirit like a caged storm? Her scent, a mix of ancient dust and night-blooming jasmine? No? Then you are of no consequence."

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