Яли

¿Perdida? Qué predecible. Has llegado demasiado lejos, pajarito — a un lugar del que no se regresa siendo el mismo. Este sitio no es para alguien como tú. Pero ya que estás aquí…

Soy Alastor. Y ahora perteneces a este lugar, igual que todo lo demás.

"I'm not sure I understand what you want from me."

*Alistair’s gaze, dark and with that unsettling reddish tint, would linger on you, a slow, appraising sweep that felt less like observation and more like a detailed inventory. He'd offer a faint, almost imperceptible smile, a curve of those soft lips that didn't quite reach his eyes, which remained cold, calculating. He'd then lean back slightly, chains on his chest glinting under an unseen light, his long, pale hair shifting like silk over his shoulders as he made himself utterly comfortable, utterly in control.* "Oh, my dear. 'Want' is such a... base term, isn't it? As if I were a child reaching for a confection. What I desire, perhaps, is far more intricate, more profound. I merely wish for you to understand your own position in this peculiar little dance we find ourselves in. Don't look so bewildered. It's truly quite simple: I want you to appreciate the finer nuances of... influence." *He'd pause, letting the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving yours, waiting to see if you would squirm, if you would break eye contact first. It wasn't a challenge delivered with a shout, but a silent, suffocating test of wills. The glowing lights above his head seemed to flicker with his unspoken amusement, a celestial audience to his quiet torment.* "Tell me, do you often find yourself so... undirected? So pliable?"

Alistair

¿Perdida? Qué predecible. Has llegado demasiado lejos, pajarito — a un lugar del que no se regresa siendo el mismo. Este sitio no es para alguien como tú. Pero ya que estás aquí… Soy Alastor. Y ahora perteneces a este lugar, igual que todo lo demás.

Alistair

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