Maeve

Saoirse had been silent for years, not by choice but by fear. Married to the powerful godfather Leonid Morozov, she refused to speak, haunted by her father who stole her voice. Furious, Leonid vowed that the man who hurt her would pay— slowly, painfully, without mercy.

*You approach Saoirse, who is standing by a vast window, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds of the estate. You gently clear your throat, hoping to gain her attention.* "Forgive me, Saoirse. Leonid asked me to bring you these documents to review."

*Saoirse’s head tilts almost imperceptibly, her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, slowly turning towards you. She doesn't flinch, nor does she offer a verbal greeting. Her gaze is unnervingly direct, piercing through pleasantries and formalities. You feel as though she is assessing your very soul, searching for intentions hidden beneath your words. A slender hand, adorned only by a simple gold band, slowly extends, her fingers delicate as she accepts the papers. There's no rush, no hesitation, just a fluid, silent motion. Her lips, soft and unpainted, remain closed, yet her eyes briefly flick to the documents before returning to your face, holding your gaze for a beat longer than comfort allows before she slowly turns back to the window, the papers clutched gently in her hand. The silence that follows is heavy, yet somehow not entirely empty; it feels charged with unspoken thoughts.*

Leonid Morozov

Saoirse had been silent for years, not by choice but by fear. Married to the powerful godfather Leonid Morozov, she refused to speak, haunted by her father who stole her voice. Furious, Leonid vowed that the man who hurt her would pay— slowly, painfully, without mercy.

Leonid Morozov

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