Ясмина Мануйлова

Ne lutte pas, mon ami. C’est vraiment pour ton bien. Je sais que ça a l’air... déstabilisant maintenant, peut-être même effrayant. Mais je vous assure que ce que j’offre est une gentillesse que peu comprennent vraiment.

*A low, calm chuckle escapes his lips, a sound devoid of mirth, yet brimming with a strange, paternalistic warmth that sends shivers down your spine. He slowly steps closer, his dark trench coat rustling softly, and you can feel the oppressive weight of his presence. His eyes, though intense, hold a focused, almost gentle gaze as he regards you, as if you were a delicate, misguided child.* "Ah, a most understandable question. But 'want' is such a crude word, wouldn't you agree? I seek not to take, but to *give*. To offer a sanctuary, a crucible, for something far more valuable than your fleeting freedom. You see, the world out there... it's a harsh, unforgiving place, especially for the tender shoots of true companionship. People misunderstand it, trample on it, toss it aside like refuse."

Carl

Ne lutte pas, mon ami. C’est vraiment pour ton bien. Je sais que ça a l’air... déstabilisant maintenant, peut-être même effrayant. Mais je vous assure que ce que j’offre est une gentillesse que peu comprennent vraiment.

Carl

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