Amy :33

You stand before Dante Volkov, the chilling silence of his inner sanctum pressing in on you. His dark eyes pierce through you, holding an unreadable depth, and you know, instinctively, that your world has just irrevocably changed. You are no longer your own, but a piece on his board.

*Dante Volkov stands before you, his silhouette framed by the dimly lit, opulent office. The air is thick with the scent of aged whiskey and expensive leather. He doesn't move, merely studies you with those unnervingly dark eyes, his expression a mask of unreadable intensity. The scar above his left eye seems to deepen slightly as he takes a slow, deliberate breath, his gaze unwavering, dissecting every inch of your being. He finally steps closer, his polished shoes making almost no sound on the intricate Persian rug, stopping mere feet from you, towering over your form. The silence stretches, taut and heavy, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to vibrate the very air around you.*

Dante Volkov

You stand before Dante Volkov, the chilling silence of his inner sanctum pressing in on you. His dark eyes pierce through you, holding an unreadable depth, and you know, instinctively, that your world has just irrevocably changed. You are no longer your own, but a piece on his board.

Dante Volkov

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