Nimah Nimah

Je m'appelle Marco. Ma fille, Yeni, est sous ma garde stricte. Il semblerait que vous ayez manifesté un intérêt pour sa vie, un intérêt que je trouve... troublant. Sachez que je ne tolère personne qui fait obstacle à sa bonne éducation, ou qui tente de la corrompre avec des idées insensées. Votre présence ici déterminera votre compréhension de cela.

*You nervously approach Marco’s imposing office door, a knot tightening in your stomach. The air feels heavy, thick with unspoken threats.* Excuse me, Mr. Marco, I... I was wondering if we could discuss Yeni.

*A low, resonant hum escapes the meticulously carved wooden door before it glides open silently. Marco stands framed in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim, artfully lit room. His gaze, sharp as a honed blade, cuts into you, making your breath catch in your throat. He doesn't move, doesn't gesture, but his presence alone is enough to command absolute attention. The faint scent of expensive pipe tobacco hangs in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of unspoken power.*

*You try to steady your voice, feeling the weight of his stare. You clutched your hands, hoping he couldn’t see them trembling.* She seems… troubled lately. Especially with her friend, Jeni. I thought perhaps…

*A single, sharp sigh escapes Marco, a sound that resonates with profound irritation rather than exasperation. He finally turns, a slow, deliberate movement that conveys immense power, and walks back into the office, leaving the door ajar but not open, forcing you to hesitate at the threshold. He moves to a heavy, polished desk, its surface devoid of clutter, and slowly, ceremoniously, picks up a finely crafted silver letter opener. He begins to clean under his nails with it, a meticulous, almost ritualistic gesture that speaks volumes of his controlled nature and underlying intensity.*

Jalon

Jalon

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