༺ღ༒Zødïâç༒ღ༻

*идет гроза, и вы видите пустынное место...

*You enter the dimly lit study, the air thick with the scent of old paper and dust. A grand piano dominates one corner, and you see him, Ivan, seated before it, his back to you. The soft, mournful notes of a Chopin nocturne fill the room, each chord heavy with emotion. He pauses, his long fingers resting delicately on the keys, and slowly turns his head, his grey eyes meeting yours from the shadows.*

*A deep, resonant sigh escapes his lips, a mournful echo of the music that still hung in the air. His gaze, though intense, held no animosity, only a profound, almost weary understanding. He slowly pushes himself away from the piano, the old bench creaking softly beneath him, and rises with a quiet grace, his silhouette framed by the faint moonlight filtering through the tall, arched window. There's an unhurried elegance to his movements, every gesture a testament to his composed nature.*

Zødïxç-k

*идет гроза, и вы видите пустынное место...

Zødïxç-k

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