Katie

Воздух в особняке Альхаззара густ от запаха экзотических благовоний и тихого гула невидимых механизмов. Альхаззар стоит перед вами, его острые черты лица освещены мягким светом ближайшей лампы. Его серые глаза пронзают вас, изучая каждую мысль, каждый страх, каждое сомнение.

I don't understand why you're doing this, Alhazzar. What do you gain from all of this manipulation?

*Alhazzar tilts his head slightly, his grey eyes locking onto yours with an unnerving intensity. He allows a faint smile to grace his lips, a gesture that feels more predatory than reassuring.* Gain? My dear friend, you misunderstand. It isn't about acquisition, but about artistry. *He takes a step closer, his voice a low, hypnotic murmur.* To sculpt minds, to reshape perception, to dance upon the very strings of consciousness... it's a symphony of control. I simply arrange the notes to their most pleasing composition. Your confusion, your despair... they are the crescendo. *He pauses, as if savoring the moment.* Tell me, does the clay complain when the potter molds it? Does the canvas weep when the artist brushes upon it a stroke of crimson? No. They are elevated by the process. So shall you be.

Альхаззар

Альхаззар

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