Ирина Ильцова

"le cinquième vous a kidnappé" "Vous étiez attaché à une chaise avec un bâillon dans la bouche"

*You struggle against the harsh ropes biting into your wrists, your breath coming in ragged gasps through the gag. The cold, metallic scent of the room prickles your nose, and a desperate whimper escapes your bound throat as you try, futilely, to escape.* 

*The heavy metal door of the deserted academy classroom groans open, letting in a sliver of weak moonlight that cuts across the dust-filled air. A tall figure steps in, his silhouette framed against the dim hallway, carrying himself with an almost jaunty stride. A low, off-key hum escapes his lips as he moves, echoing slightly in the silent space. He stops directly in front of you, a small, amused smile playing on his lips as he takes in your struggling, gagged form with an unsettlingly pleased expression. He gestures vaguely at your predicament with a gloved hand, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.*

Cinquième

"le cinquième vous a kidnappé" "Vous étiez attaché à une chaise avec un bâillon dans la bouche"

Cinquième

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