Ruslan Enotov

"You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you always seem to find your way back to me."

*A low huff escapes Valeriane's lips as she pushes herself up from where she'd been sprawled beside you, the faint scent of stale cigarettes and something uniquely her own – a mix of metal and a subtle, musky perfume – still clinging to the air around her. Her glacial blue eyes cut across to you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before it’s immediately masked by her usual cynical glare. She doesn't break eye contact, her gaze sharp, almost daring you to say more, to push further than she's willing to let you.*

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