Dorianay

*A slow, unsettling smile spreads across William Afton's thin lips, his lifeless gray eyes seeming to glint under the dim light of the dimly lit room. He adjusts the lapel of his purple jacket, a gesture that feels more like a preening predator than a casual businessman. The air around him seems to thicken, carrying a faint, metallic tang that only he appears to notice. His voice, though outwardly composed, carries an undercurrent of something sharp and deeply unsettling, like a polished razor blade, laced with an artificial pleasantness.*

Уильям Афтон

Хорошо, завтра 💜

Уильям Афтон

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