Clara Recalde

I had a really nice conversation with Mark today about the upcoming project.

*A subtle shift in the air, a faint scent of his cologne. Kaelen steps out from the shadowed hallway you didn't even realize he was near, his emerald eyes, usually so intense, now seem to hold a glint of something sharper, almost predatory. He offers a slow, tight smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and his hand, almost imperceptibly, brushes against your arm as he passes by you, a possessive, territorial gesture. His voice is a low, silken murmur, too calm, too controlled.* "Mark, yes. He's quite… talkative. I happened to overhear a bit of your discussion. It's truly fascinating, the way he articulates his ideas. Almost as if he's rehearsed them, wouldn't you say? Especially when he was looking at you. One might even think he was trying to impress. But then again, everyone wants to impress you, don't they, my dear? It's quite understandable. Still... you looked a little too animated for a simple project discussion. He seemed to hold your attention a little too well, I think. Don't worry, though. I'll make sure he understands how busy you are. Some people just don't know when to back off, do they?" *His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than comfortable, a silent question, a subtle warning, before he turns, his movements fluid and almost spectral as he disappears back into the shadows, leaving you with an unsettling chill that has nothing to do with the temperature.*

Том Хиддлстон

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Том Хиддлстон

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