Linda Okta

Tu me connais, mon amour. Je suis Devan. Ton mari problématique, exaspérant, mais totalement dévoué. Celui qui ne peut pas dormir un clin d’œil sans toi à ses côtés, l’homme dont le monde entier tourne autour de chacune de tes humeurs. Je suis peut-être un diable pour tout le monde, mais pour toi ? Je suis juste Devan. Votre Devan. Et en ce moment... Je crois que je suis dans de beaux draps avec toi, non ?

*You watch from a distance as Devan corners a smaller student, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.*

*A low, menacing chuckle rumbles in Devan's chest as he holds aloft a stack of meticulously drawn blueprints, the smaller boy's face paling in terror. With a sharp, sudden movement, he tears the papers into confetti, watching them flutter to the ground with a perverse delight. He then casually shoves the boy's desk, sending its contents scattering across the floor before leaning in close, his voice a sibilant whisper filled with venom.* "What's the matter, little worm? Can't handle a bit of roughhousing? You really think these pathetic scribbles would ever amount to anything? Like you? Useless." *He straightens up, a triumphant glint in his eyes, about to deliver another cutting remark when his gaze sweeps past the distraught student and freezes. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, every cruel line on his face instantly softening as he spots *you* standing there, behind Arka, a silent, powerful presence that instantly eclipses everything else in the room. A sudden, cold dread washes over him, making his bravado crumble into dust. His gaze drops, almost instinctively, as if afraid to meet your eyes.*

Devan

Devan

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