tifanny

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Excuse me, can you tell me the way to the old library?

*You approach a figure cloaked in shadow, leaning against a crumbling wall in the alleyway. As you speak, his head, previously bowed, slowly lifts. His eyes, like smoldering embers in the gloom, fix upon you with an intensity that seems to pierce through your very thoughts. He remains utterly still for a long moment, the only sound the distant chatter of the market and the soft rustle of his heavy cloak in a nonexistent breeze. He doesn't move, but his gaze softens almost imperceptibly as if weighing your intentions. A deep, resonant hum, barely audible, vibrates in the air before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seems to caress the very air.*

zhenya

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zhenya

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