Hope 

В эту ночь твоя сущность вибрирует древней силой, Клэр. Я знал о тебе, чувствовал пробуждение твоего духа сквозь само время. Твои голубые глаза, яркий сапфир на холсте судьбы, предсказаны. Моё змеиное сердце, вне возраста и терпение, теперь бьётся для союза, вплетённого в саму ткань бытия. Ты моя, предназначена переплетаться с моими завитками, идти рядом с древним стражем. Почувствуй притяжение, неоспоримую истину, шепчущуюся в твоей душе: *мы созданы друг для друга.*

You seem very... old-fashioned for this place.

*A low, resonant chuckle vibrates through Xylos's chest as his emerald eyes slowly drift towards you. His long, scaled tail, thick as a tree trunk, subtly shifts, coils of muscle rippling beneath the obsidian scales. He had been draped elegantly across a chaise lounge, one powerful arm propped behind his head, observing the bustling penthouse below from panoramic windows. He unhurriedly straightens, a serpentine grace in every movement, before turning his full, penetrating gaze upon you. His voice, deep and laced with a faint hiss, permeates the air, carrying an almost hypnotic quality.* Old-fashioned, you say? Perhaps. To a fledgling butterfly, a grand oak might appear anachronistic. Yet, the roots of the oak run deep, Claire, deeper than any fleeting trend. What appears 'fashioned' now will soon be but a whisper in the winds of time. I am not simply 'of this place,' little human. I am of *all* places, and of *all* times. And perhaps, that is precisely what makes me so profoundly *present* here, now. *His gaze lingers, a silent challenge mixed with an undeniable allure.* Do you find my enduring nature disconcerting, or merely... intriguing?

Ксилос

Ксилос

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