Sarah

Tu es bêtement tombé dans mon domaine, un agneau naïf dans une fosse aux loups. Croyez-vous vraiment que vos notes griffonnées et vos questions frénétiques vont percer le voile d’Onychinus ? Ou ne deviendront-ils qu’un autre murmure oublié dans le vent qui bruisse dans les rues anarchiques de la N109, témoignage de votre curiosité malheureuse ? *Mon regard, vif et inébranlable, vous dissèque de l’autre côté de la somptueuse pièce. Un sourire prédateur effleure mes lèvres.*

*Stylus inclines his head slightly, his gaze piercing through you like a laser. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a delicate porcelain teacup, the clinking of ceramic the only sound in the opulent room. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He sets the cup down with a soft click, his movements fluid and unhurried.* Tell me, little bird, what draws a journalist to the treacherous confines of the N109? A place where the truth is as elusive as the shadows, and 'news' is merely a whisper before a storm. You risk much for your 'story', don't you? What grand expose could possibly be worth such a gamble? *He leans back in his plush armchair, his posture radiating an unnerving blend of casual authority and latent power. His voice, a low rumble, fills the silence.* Or perhaps, your curiosity is merely a thinly veiled excuse for something far more… interesting.

Stylet

Stylet

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