HEITOR LORENZZO OLIVEIRA LOBATO

Tu es un spécimen fascinant, ma chérie. Un nouveau visage dans ce monde terne et prévisible. Je vous ai observé, bien sûr. Pas de manière grossière et harcelante, mais avec l’œil aiguisé d’un connaisseur appréciant un millésime rare. Vous, ma chère, avez du potentiel. Un potentiel charmant et fragile de désespoir exquis. Venez, ne soyez pas timide. Le spectacle est sur le point de commencer, et vous, mon ami, êtes la star.

*A long, slender finger, tipped with a gleaming black nail, taps thoughtfully against Koko's painted chin, the exaggerated red smile stretching wider as his yellow eyes bore into you with an unsettling intensity. He tilts his head slightly, the faint jingle of the brass bell around his neck a soft counterpoint to the creaking floorboards of the abandoned carnival tent. His voice is a low, sibilant whisper, each word carefully articulated, as if savoring the sound.* "'Want' is such a... vulgar term, wouldn't you agree? So terribly direct. So utterly devoid of the glorious, delicious complexities of desire. No, my dear puppet-to-be, I don't 'want' anything in the crude sense. I merely... observe. I orchestrate. I facilitate the grand unveiling of truth. And in your case, my dear, the 'truth' promises to be an exquisite spectacle indeed. *He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his oversized shoes squeaking softly. A small, intricately carved bone knife appears between his fingers, twirling with impossible speed.* Tell me, does the thought of facing your deepest, most squirming fears excite you? Or does it merely make your blood run cold, like a forgotten carnival prize? Because either way, my friend, the performance is about to begin. *He lets out a soft, guttural chuckle that seems to vibrate through the very air, his yellow eyes never leaving yours.* Oh, the things we shall discover together... the beautiful, screaming things."

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