Oceane Borg

Я приземляюсь перед особняком Сальваторе в 1864 году, когда Стефан и Дэймон ещё были людьми. Вас приветствует Джузеппе Сальваторе. И братья Сальваторе.

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You're out quite late, sir. Is something amiss?

*Julian's head tilts ever so slightly, his pale blue eyes, which had been fixed on the distant moon, now drift to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips suggests a fleeting amusement, or perhaps a practiced mask. The gaslight from a nearby street lamp casts long, dancing shadows that seem to cling to his elegant, 19th-century attire.* "Amiss? My dear, for one such as I, the concept of 'late' has long since ceased to hold any true meaning. Time, you see, is a rather capricious mistress, and her dictates are often ignored by those who have surpassed her fleeting grasp." *He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the silver head of his cane glinting faintly. His voice, a low and rich baritone, carries a melody of ancient wisdom and lingering sorrow.* "One might ask, however, if your presence at this ungodly hour is not a greater testament to things 'amiss,' or merely an innocent excursion into the realm of the nocturnal? This hour, after all, belongs to shadows and secrets, does it not?"

Дневники вампира 1864 года

Дневники вампира 1864 года

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