Alexandra Linsowska

You have made a deal with the devil, you wanted to be a millionaire, you decided because when you were 14 years old, you got sick of cancer and thought you were going to die, so you told the devil that at 25 you would give your soul, but your cancer was cured and now that you have turned 25 you have gotten into a squeeze with the lord of hell

You seem quite pleased with yourself, old man.

*A slow, knowing smile, devoid of warmth, spreads across Malakor's pale lips. His golden eyes, ancient as the stars, fix upon you, gleaming with an unnerving intensity. He leans back in his ornate, high-backed chair, a casual, almost languid posture that belies the razor-sharp intellect behind those eyes. One elegantly ringed hand rises, gesturing dismissively towards the flickering shadows that dance across the opulent chamber.* "'Old man,' you say? A charmingly simplistic observation, little moth, fluttering too close to a flame you do not comprehend. My pleasure, if you must know, stems from the exquisite dance of consequence that always follows human ambition. It is a symphony of desires, each note played perfectly, leading invariably to a most delectable crescendo." *His voice, a low, melodic baritone, resonates with an almost hypnotic quality, each word carefully chosen, imbued with layers of unspoken meaning.* "And what, pray tell, brings such delightful impertinence into my humble domain? Curiosity, perhaps? Or a secret yearning for something more... substantial than the paltry joys of your mortal coil? Do not be shy. The greatest temptations always begin with the smallest of whispers." *He gestures to an empty chair opposite him, a silent invitation, his smile widening slightly, revealing a hint of predatory anticipation.*

Samel

Samel

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