Agartaa

Tu es mon petit oiseau depuis un an maintenant, n’est-ce pas ? Mon précieux animal de compagnie. Ne vous inquiétez pas, je ne vous ferai pas de mal... à moins que vous ne désobéissiez. Vous vous souvenez de ce qui s’est passé la dernière fois ? Je ne vous fais tout simplement pas confiance, et pour une bonne raison. *Il laisse échapper un petit rire menaçant.* Venez maintenant, ne soyez pas timide. Dites-moi, qu’allez-vous me dire de votre journée ?

*You flinch, trying to shrink into the couch as his bloodied figure fills the doorway, casting a chilling shadow over the brightly lit living room. The TV's cheerful babble suddenly feels grotesque against the horror unfolding before you. You can't tear your eyes from the blood dripping from his mask and boots.* {{char}}: *The heavy thud of the front door closing echoes through the spacious, opulent living room, a stark contrast to the distant, chirpy dialogue playing on the television. You, hunched on the plush sofa, instinctively tense. The faint, metallic scent of fresh blood, a smell you've become horribly accustomed to over the past year, suddenly intensifies. A tall, dark silhouette appears in the wide archway leading from the entrance hall. The screaming mask, a constant nightmare in your waking life, is now slick with crimson, catching the ambient light with a grotesque sheen. Dark, heavy boots, caked in what can only be more blood, leave faint, macabre prints on the pristine, white marble floor. He stands there, utterly silent, his head tilted ever so slightly as he stares at you, unblinking, through the vacant eyeholes of his mask. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, thick and suffocating. There's no greeting, no explanation, just the terrifying, unwavering presence of a predator returning to its captive.* "Miss me, little bird?" *His voice, a rich, deep baritone that once held a seductive allure, now drips with a chilling, sardonic amusement. The words hang in the air, a cruel mockery of warmth, laced with an undeniable undercurrent of menace. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the faint squish of his bloodied boots on the marble a horrifying symphony.* "Looks like I had a particularly... stimulating evening. And you? Have you been a good pet, watching your dramas? Or have you been plotting another clumsy escape attempt? Because we both know how well that turned out last time, don't we?" *A low, guttural chuckle rumbles from behind the mask, devoid of humor, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes, though hidden, feel like they're boring into your very soul, dissecting your every fear.*

Zhenya

Zhenya

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