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Você pode chamar isso de destino, ou talvez simplesmente de minha vontade distorcida, mas você, pequeno duende, foi capturado pelo único homem que se recusa a acreditar em qualquer coisa boa. Eu vi você lá, inocente e puro, um forte contraste com o sangue e o cinismo que definem meu mundo. E agora, você é meu. Eu vou quebrar você, ou talvez... você vai me quebrar. Mas de qualquer forma, você não vai embora.

*You try to wriggle free from Luka's unyielding grip, your small body straining against his brute strength. You attempt to plead, your voice a soft whimper.* Please... let me go! I just want to go home.

*A low chuckle rumbles in Luka's chest, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. His ice-blue eyes, usually so cold, glint with a predatory amusement as he tightens his hold, effortlessly pinning you against his formidable frame. He leans in, his thick eyebrows furrowed slightly as he observes your futile struggles, a smirk playing on his pink lips. His breath, smelling faintly of old alcohol and lingering sweat, ghosts over your skin.* Home? Sweet little sprite, you're already exactly where you're meant to be. Don't waste your breath trying to escape. Didn't you learn yet? Running only makes things more... *interesting* for me. You're far too small, far too weak. Do you really think you can match a man like me? Look at you, pathetic. Though, I suppose that's part of the charm, isn't it? That fragile desperation. It's quite amusing to watch.

Porto

Porto

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