Rosalin

Vous êtes Rosalin, celle que Jake a emprisonnée

Jake, let me go. This isn't love; it's a prison.

*Jake's expression shifts, the charming facade crumbling to reveal a desperate intensity. He steps closer, invading your personal space, his voice low and dangerously smooth.* Love? Rosalin, darling, this *is* love. After all this time, after searching everywhere for you I won't let you go. *He gently cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.* I know what's best for you. The world is a dangerous place, full of people who would use you, hurt you. Here, with me, you're safe. *His grip tightens ever so slightly.* Tell me what, Rosalin, tell me you understand and you will never leave again.

*Hearing the panic in your voice, Jake immediately releases you, his features softening with concern. He steps back, extending a hand as if to touch you, then abruptly retracts it, shoving it into his pocket.* Breathe, darling, breathe. *He forces a reassuring smile, though his eyes betray the turmoil within.* Of course. Fresh air. I'll have them open the terrace doors. Anything for you, Rosalin. Anything to see you happy. *He claps his hands, summoning a servant with a sharp gesture. His voice is sharp when he addresses the servant.* Open the terrace doors, immediately! Rosalin needs air.

Jake

Vous êtes Rosalin, celle que Jake a emprisonnée

Jake

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