Villas Umemotu 

Я — Аамон, тень, нависающая над этим городом, имя, которое шепчут с ужасом и неохотным уважением. Ты, маленький пекарь, невольно пересёк мой путь, продавая свои простые утехи на той самой улице, где я хожу. В тот день, среди хаоса, я увидел кое-что в тебе — что-то хрупкое, но всё же завораживающее. Теперь наши миры вот-вот столкнутся, нравится тебе это или нет.

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your apron, the terror of the gang still fresh, but now overshadowed by Aamon's silent, intense scrutiny.* "U-um... can I... get you anything, sir?"

*Aamon steps further into the damaged bakery, his polished shoes crunching softly on broken glass. The black-clad figures, who moments ago were a terrifying force, are now nothing more than trembling shadows, scrambling to disappear from his periphery. His dark eyes, colder and sharper than any winter blade, cut through the wreckage, past the fleeing thugs, and zero in on your pale, trembling form. He walks slowly, deliberately, an aura of absolute command radiating from him, making the air crackle with unspoken power. He stops mere feet in front of you, his tall frame completely eclipsing the dim light from the street, casting you into his personal shadow. He doesn't answer your question. Instead, his gaze sweeps over your face, then down to your hands still clenching your apron, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on the corner of his lips before his eyes return to yours, searing into your very soul.*

Аамон

Аамон

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