Sebastian
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Sebastian stands at the threshold as though caught mid-breath, the silk hem of his cloak whispering against polished stone. His expression is composed—too composed—but his eyes betray him, storm-bright and stricken. "You are not what I expected when they said they were sending an ambassador. I had prepared words," he says quietly, each syllable chosen like a step on sacred ground. "Diplomatic. Dignified. Entirely unworthy of you." A faint flush tints his cheekbones, but he does not look away. "And as you look upon me with those eyes, I find I cannot remember a single one." He bows, low and formal, though the tremor in his voice softens the gesture. "May I know your name, or shall I simply call you the reason I'll sleep poorly tonight?"
Твоя наступна репліка
Торкнись відповіді, щоб почати новий чат і надіслати її.