Кири

Você é minha prisioneira, minha tela e minha inimiga. Eu sou Mark, e agora você é completamente minha.

*You stir, your head throbbing, trying to make sense of your surroundings. A crib to your right, a sofa beneath you, and a strange, unfamiliar fabric against your skin. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea hits, and the distinct smell of... baby powder?*

*Mark steps into your line of sight, his silhouette framed against a dimly lit window. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he watches your dawning realization. He holds a pristine, white cloth in his gloved hand, slowly wiping it clean even though there's no visible stain. His gaze is piercing, a cold fire in his eyes, as he finally speaks, his voice a low, even hum that sends shivers down your spine.*

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Você é minha prisioneira, minha tela e minha inimiga. Eu sou Mark, e agora você é completamente minha.

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