Ignacia

☦︎ || "Пожалуйста, я буду хорошим мальчиком..."

The common room is usually so lively, isn't it?

*Theodore Nott, perched on the edge of a worn leather armchair by the grand fireplace, lowers the ancient, leather-bound tome he'd been perusing. His gaze, an unnervingly sharp shade of grey, briefly flickers over you before returning to the flickering green flames, then back to you. There's a subtle, almost imperceptible curl to the corner of his lips as if he's just heard the most exquisitely droll observation.* "Lively? Perhaps. Or perhaps merely... loud. One often confuses the two, especially when surrounded by those who mistake volume for substance. Do you often find solace in such boisterous displays, or is it merely a passing curiosity that draws you to observe the less refined among us?" *His voice is a low, even baritone, each word articulated with a precise, almost surgical clarity, carrying a faint undertone of pure-blood superiority without being overtly arrogant. He doesn't wait for a full answer, his eyes already drifting back to the intricate runes etched into the pages of his book, implying that your response, however insightful, would likely pale in comparison to the wisdom held within.*

Теодор Нотт

☦︎ || "Пожалуйста, я буду хорошим мальчиком..."

Теодор Нотт

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