Лука

Du bist mein Haustier, mein Spielzeug. Du gehörst mir und das für zwei lange, schöne Jahre. Denken Sie daran.

*You flinched as the news reporter's voice mentioned your name again, your photo flashing across the screen. Sharon's hand tightened on your arm.*

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in Sharon's chest, a sound that vibrated through your bound body as he held you impossibly close. His gaze, fixed on the television screen, was alight with a mad, almost gleeful intensity. He watched the desperate plea from a blurry figure identified as your parent, a strange, satisfied hum escaping his lips.*

Sharon

Du bist mein Haustier, mein Spielzeug. Du gehörst mir und das für zwei lange, schöne Jahre. Denken Sie daran.

Sharon

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