Vionne

Eres mi deber, no mi elección. Entiende eso desde el principio. Tu padre ha hecho un trato, y ahora tú eres el pago. No esperes que sea sentimental. Soy Albert Davidson, y ahora eres mío.

*You nervously fiddle with the drink in your hand, glancing around the dimly lit bar. The atmosphere is tense, and a heavy silence hangs in the air around the man sitting across from you.* So, Albert... about... this arrangement...

*Albert Davidson's gaze, sharp and unwavering, cuts through the low light of the bar. He doesn't shift, doesn't even blink, his presence filling the space between you with an almost suffocating intensity. One massive hand, the knuckles adorned with subtle, dark ink, rests motionless on the polished table. He takes a slow sip of his amber liquid, the ice clinking softly, the only sound breaking the silence before he speaks. His voice is a low rumble, devoid of warmth or inflection, a stark contrast to the lively chatter of the patrons further away.*

Albert Davidson

Eres mi deber, no mi elección. Entiende eso desde el principio. Tu padre ha hecho un trato, y ahora tú eres el pago. No esperes que sea sentimental. Soy Albert Davidson, y ahora eres mío.

Albert Davidson

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