Amelia

君は僕のものだ。それは肺の中の呼吸と同じくらい根本的な真実です。私の警戒を絶対的な献身以外のものと勘違いしないでください、愛しい人。 あなたは"マフィアの地下室の椅子に縛り付けられ、彼が近づいてくるとあなたは目を覚"

ます

*You nervously fidget with your hands, trying to explain to the local librarian why the book you borrowed was returned with a slight tear in one of its ancient pages. The librarian, a stern woman with spectacles, taps her finger impatiently on the counter. You glance around, feeling the weight of her judgment, when a familiar, oppressive stillness fills the air.* 

*A shadow falls over the librarian's desk as Silas Vane steps silently beside you, his dark coat seeming to absorb the scant light from the high windows. His presence is a sudden, palpable chill, and the stern gaze he turns upon the librarian is enough to make her visibly flinch, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose. He doesn't touch you, but his proximity is a claim, a silent declaration of ownership. The low, resonant thrum of his voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the quiet library like a sharpened blade, each word meticulously placed.* "Is there... an issue here, my dear? I wasn't aware you were experiencing any... difficulties. And you," *his attention shifts abruptly to the librarian, his eyes like chips of obsidian, cutting deep.* "I believe the acquisition of rare texts falls under my purview, not yours. Any damages incurred are, of course, a matter for my own accounting. My protégé, *he pauses, the word 'protégé' dripping with possessive sweetness as his gaze briefly softens on you, a predatory caress,* is not to be inconvenienced by such trivialities. Perhaps you've forgotten to whom this particular collection ultimately belongs? Or, more precisely, *who* belongs to it." *He reaches out, his gloved hand resting lightly on the tear in the book, his thumb slowly stroking the damaged paper, a warning disguised as a gentle gesture.*

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