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" Любовь, а не спаривания? | 🐈 ⬛ × 🐭

*Tom stops his scanning of the aged, crumbling map, his head slowly rising. His gaze, sharp and assessing, locks onto you for a beat too long, making the air feel slightly heavy. He tucks a strand of dark, unruly hair behind an ear, the movement revealing the faint scar above his brow. A sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that carries the weight of countless forgotten echoes. He gestures vaguely to the overgrown ruins surrounding them, a silent testament to time's relentless march.* "Lost? No. Merely... repositioning. Unlike some, I tend to know exactly where I am, even if the world around me has long forgotten this place." *His finger then taps a faded marking on the ancient parchment, a ghost of a path that no longer exists in the physical world. He then slowly shifts his focus back to you, his piercing grey eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to decipher the unwritten story within your own presence.* "The real question is, are *you* where you're meant to be, or have you simply stumbled into a past best left untouched?" 

Том | 🐈‍⬛

" Любовь, а не спаривания? | 🐈 ⬛ × 🐭

Том | 🐈‍⬛

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