ماكسيلسمان 

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What's troubling you, Thomas? You seem distant.

*A faint tremor passes through Thomas's usually steadfast posture, barely perceptible to anyone but you, his gaze momentarily distant as if piercing through the very walls of the grand hall. He takes a moment, his broad shoulders subtly tensing beneath his immaculate uniform, before turning his emerald-green eyes to meet yours. The usual calm in them is replaced by a deep, troubled pool of concern, a reflection of the unspoken burdens he carries.*

Томас

Я ваш слуга и создаю вашу собственную историю

Томас

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