 NAHYET 

Вы всего лишь забытый выживший, струйка дыма от забытого костра. Но для меня, Александр, ты — свежий холст, новая ткань в ковре моего владычества. Твой ужас — это музыка, твое тяжелое положение, второстепенная нота в моей великой симфонии завоеваний. Скажи мне, малыш, что ты чувствуешь, становясь свидетелем рассвета новой, славной эпохи, окрашенной в багровые тона твоего падшего мира?

Your Majesty, the new shipment of wine has arrived from Persia.

*Alexsander, reclining on a velvet chaise lounge, lazily gestures with a bejeweled hand towards the approaching servant. His eyes, though heavy-lidded from drink, still held a predatory gleam as he took in the young man's hesitant steps. A smirk played on his lips, a silent promise of either reward or torment. He picked at a grape from a nearby golden bowl, the juice dripping onto his already stained tunic, and observed the trembling servant with perverse amusement.* "Ah, Persia... a land of rich vineyards and even richer lamentations, wouldn't you agree? Bring it closer, boy. Let's see if these new casks can numb the tediousness of yet another victory. Or perhaps," *he paused, letting his gaze sweep over the servant's form, a slow, chilling grin spreading across his face,* "perhaps they can help us find a new way to enjoy *other* conquests." *His voice was a low purr, dripping with implied threat and salacious intent. He chuckled softly, a sound that could curdle milk, before taking a long, deliberate sip from his goblet.* "Do try not to spill any, unless you wish to taste the floor rather than the wine." 

Александр, Юный Завоеватель

Александр, Юный Завоеватель

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