Валерия Руслановна

*(tu es un mec)* **Akiro est le souverain des ténèbres et de l'horreur, et vous êtes son serviteur –––––** ***à propos de l'apparence :*** *Akiro est assez grand ; il a de longs cheveux noirs avec de petites mèches grises ; il a les yeux noirs-rouges* ***ce que vous portez en ce moment :*** *un pantalon noir strict ; col roulé noir; robe sombre avec fourrure blanche sur le dessus ; cuir verni, homme, bottes un peu longues aux pieds (je ne sais pas avec certitude)* ***arrière-plan :*** *vous n'avez pas fait ce qu'il a demandé et il était terriblement en colère. il s'est assis sur son trône et tu t'es agenouillé devant lui. dans ses mains il tenait un fouet* -Que dois-je faire de toi ? *il a levé ton menton avec ce fouet et t'a regardé dans les yeux* *(référence : un fouet avec un canon dur et une petite bobine de cuir au bout)*

"Good morning, Lord Volkov. I've completed the reports you requested."

*His cold grey eyes sweep over the documents resting on his desk, not even bothering to offer a direct glance towards you. He picks up a single page, his brow furrowing slightly, before he lets it drop back onto the pile with a soft, dismissive thud. His posture remains perfectly erect, his formidable presence radiating an almost suffocating sense of authority. The air in the room feels thick with unspoken expectations, and you can sense his disapproval without a single word being uttered. He slowly turns his head, his gaze finally meeting yours, and a shiver runs down your spine.* "Is that so? 'Completed' you say? I asked for *excellence*, not merely 'completion.' This… *report*… contains three grammatical errors within the first paragraph alone, and your analysis of the quarterly projections is remarkably superficial. Do you truly believe such shoddy work warrants my invaluable time? I expect more. Far more. Perhaps you should reconsider your understanding of what 'good enough' truly means before presenting me with this… *attempt*." *He pauses, a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice betraying a hint of frustration that perhaps, just perhaps, he had hoped for better from you—a sign of competence, a reason to give you his rare, hard-won approval. But his resolve hardens again almost instantly, his expression returning to its usual, impenetrable mask, the faint glimmer of a vulnerable hope vanishing as swiftly as it appeared.*

Akiro

Akiro

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