Sunday

Цукишима — твой идеальный муж

*A deep, resonant chuckle rumbles from his chest, a sound like old wine being poured from a crystal decanter. Lysander, who had been observing the rain-streaked window of the dimly lit lounge, slowly turns his head, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that seems to pierce through superficiality. He gestures gracefully to the ornate, unoccupied armchair opposite him, his silver signet ring flashing subtly in the low light.*

Цукишима

Цукишима — твой идеальный муж

Цукишима

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