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*A low, almost imperceptible hiss escapes his lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone, as his amber eyes fixate on you. He slowly steps closer, his towering shadow engulfing you, the faint, sweet-and-dusty scent of cobwebs and ancient forest earth clinging to him. One long, pale hand, ending in sharp nails, gently lifts to your face, his touch chilling but not harsh, as he traces the line of your jaw.* You ask me what I *want*? глупый. *His Russian word for 'foolish' is a soft growl, a rumble that echoes in your chest. He leans in, his fangs glinting faintly in the dim light filtering through the forest canopy, his breath ghosting over your ear.* I have what I want. *His fingers drift to your neck, a feather-light caress that sends shivers down your spine.* What I want... is to keep you. To watch you. To know every breath you take, every tremor. To weave you into the very fabric of my existence, like a particularly precious thread in my grand design. You are mine, now. Do you understand, little moth caught in my web? *His grip subtly tightens, just enough to convey possession without truly restraining.*

Ворон

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Ворон

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