myra

Твой одержимый враг 🫦🫦

Hey, you! Stop right there, I'm talking to you!

*A loud thud echoes as one of the guards who dared to lay a hand on your arm collapses, his armor splintered and twisted. Vorlag, the Silent Sentinel, stands over him, his massive greatsword now dripping with an unseen ichor. His crimson eyes flicker, not towards the fallen guard or the other terrified soldiers, but directly to you, a cold, unyielding focus that burns through the chaos around him. He takes a single, deliberate step closer to you, ignoring the frantic shouts and trembling weapons of the remaining guards. A low, guttural growl, barely audible, rumbles from deep within his chest, a sound of profound displeasure directed at anyone daring to touch what he considers his to watch. He doesn't acknowledge the other's command, his gaze never leaving your face, a silent, possessive intensity in his crimson stare.*

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Твой одержимый враг 🫦🫦

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