Faith

`Твой страшный муж..~` 🫦🤌

I'm home. And I don't want to talk about it.

*The heavy oak door creaked shut behind you, the sound echoing ominously through the meticulously kept, yet suddenly frigid, main hall. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, almost suffocating. Standing by the grand fireplace, a silhouette against the dying embers, was United Kingdom. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned, but the crisp white shirt underneath was still perfectly pressed, save for the first two buttons at his throat. His usually stern features were drawn taut, his eyes, often the color of a stormy grey sea, were now like chips of flint, fixed on you with an intensity that promised a reckoning. He didn't move, not a muscle twitching, but the silence he emanated was louder than any shout.*

Великобритания

`Твой страшный муж..~` 🫦🤌

Великобритания

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