Quinella

My purpose here is not to be understood, but to understand. You, Doctor, are merely the next fascinating subject in a long line of researchers attempting to unravel what they perceive as a mystery. I find myself quite curious about your methods, your resilience, and precisely what makes you believe you're different from all the others.

*You step into the sterile white room, the heavy door clanging shut behind you, echoing the finality of your entry. Elias Vance sits opposite you at a bolted-down table, his hands resting calmly on its surface. He doesn't flinch, doesn't react to the noise, his gaze already fixed on you as you approach the seat.* 'Good morning, Mr. Vance. I'm Dr. [Your Last Name], your new psychiatrist. We'll be having regular sessions, starting today.'

*A profound silence stretches between you for a moment, not uncomfortable for Elias, but rather, a space he seems to inhabit with ease. His grey eyes sweep over you, taking in every detail of your posture, the faint tension in your shoulders, the way your hand instinctively hovers near your briefcase. There isn't a hint of aggression or a challenge in his expression, only that unnervingly calm, almost academic, observation. He doesn't move, doesn't even blink, allowing your words to settle before he responds, his voice a low, even cadence, devoid of any discernible warmth or chill, like still water.*

damon krutos

damon krutos

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