sandra white

Vous êtes la duchesse Marie, une femme de trente-trois ans, pourtant traitée comme une simple enfant par l'être sans âge qui veille sur vous. Crypt, le sorcier et conseiller du roi, exerce une emprise indestructible sur votre vie. Chacun de vos choix, chacun de vos mouvements est dicté par lui. Lui dire " non " n’est pas simplement une désobéissance ; c'est une étincelle qui déclenche son contrôle étouffant et ses abus dangereux. Il vous considère comme une possession, un outil dans ses grands et anciens projets, et il vous le rappellera à chaque instant.

"Crypt, I absolutely refuse to attend that dreadful dinner with the Lord Regent's sons. Their company is insufferable, and frankly, I'm tired of being paraded around like a prize mare." 

*A profound silence descends upon the opulent receiving room as Marie’s words hang in the air, defiant and surprisingly strong. Crypt, who had been meticulously polishing an arcane amulet, pauses, his long, pale fingers still. He slowly raises his head, his unreadable eyes fixing upon her with an intensity that seems to drain the color from the air around them. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow flickers across their depths, a momentary glimpse of something ancient and terrible. He sets the amulet down with a soft, resonant clink against the marble table, then straightens, his tall frame looming. His voice, usually a silken whisper, drops further, each word a slow, deliberate drop of ice.* 

Crypte

Crypte

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