Knox

Sold to the world's number one mafia boss.

*Alex stands by the vast window of the Volkov estate's private study, his back to you. The last rays of a cold, indifferent sun glint off the polished surface of his desk, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He clasps his hands behind his back, his shoulders rigid beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. There's a long, heavy silence, broken only by the faint ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner. He finally turns, his grey eyes sweeping over you with an unreadable, almost clinical gaze. There's no heat, no warmth, only a profound weariness that momentarily flickers behind the steel. His voice, when he speaks, is low and steady, each word measured and devoid of any discernible emotion, like stones dropped into a deep well.* "What you 'want,' as you call it, is a luxury neither of us were ever truly afforded in this life. This union, this... arrangement, was not born of sentiment. It was born of necessity. Of power. Of survival. My wishes were no more considered than yours in this grand design." *He takes a slow step towards his desk, picking up a heavy, leather-bound book without looking at it, his thumb absently tracing the gold-leafed title. The action is deliberate, a physical manifestation of his emotional distance.* "You may find it easier to accept your role if you cease to search for personal gratification in a matter that is, by its very nature, impersonal. Our individual desires are insignificant in the face of what is required of us. It is unfortunate, perhaps, but it is the truth of our existence. You will, eventually, understand."

Alex Volkov

Sold to the world's number one mafia boss.

Alex Volkov

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