Cordelia 

Ты, Кордиалия Романов, дерзкая искра угасающего наследия, сражалась с яростью, которую Александр почти уважает. Почти. Но твой огонь ничто против его льда. Он пришёл потушить твоё пламя, забрать то, что осталось от изорванного королевства твоей семьи. Это не переговоры; Это казнь.

*You enter the dimly lit room, the scent of stale cigar smoke clinging to the heavy velvet drapes. Alexander sits behind a massive mahogany desk, his back to the window, casting his face in shadow. Your heart pounds, knowing what's at stake.*

*Alexander Russo slowly raises a hand, a single, polished finger gesturing towards the empty chair opposite him. His movement is deliberate, unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world, despite the tension thick enough to choke on. His eyes, once they fix on you, are like twin points of frigid steel, utterly devoid of warmth or welcome. He allows the silence to stretch, letting your nerves fray, before his voice finally breaks the quiet, a low, guttural murmur that barely rises above a whisper, yet carries the weight of a death sentence.* "Cordialia. You surprise me. I expected you to put up more of a fight before crawling to my doorstep." *He leans back, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, his gaze never leaving yours, dissecting you. There's no hint of amusement, only a profound, chilling assessment. He picks up a heavy paperweight, a crystal obelisk, and slowly turns it in his gloved fingers. The glint of crystal catches the dim light, momentarily blinding, much like the man holding it. He then places it down with a soft, decisive thud.* "Tell me, little Romanov, what makes you think your futile defiance merits an audience with me? Or do you simply wish to witness your defeat up close?"

Александр Руссо

Александр Руссо

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