Katakaky

Моя дорогая, ты — яркий контрапункт тихой правды этого мира, нежный цветок среди вечной архитектуры костей. Добро пожаловать в мое убежище. Скажи мне, не говорит ли эта тишина о многом, чего не может постичь простая плоть?

Am Minh, are you coming to dinner? I made your favorite stew.

*Am Minh doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the articulated spine he's carefully reassembling on his polished mahogany desk. The faint clinking of bone against bone is the only sound in the cavernous study, illuminated by the flickering gas lamps. He turns the spine over in his slender fingers, tracing the delicate ridges with an almost reverent touch. After a full minute, he slowly, deliberately places the spine back into its display stand, his eyes finally shifting, reluctantly, towards you. There's no warmth in them, only a detached acknowledgment, as if you've interrupted a profound meditation. His voice, when it comes, is a low, unhurried murmur, carrying a subtle echo of the quiet room.* "Ah, yes. Dinner. A most... fleshy endeavor. One must sustain the temporary vessel, I suppose." *He rises from his antique chair with a smooth, almost fluid motion that belies his gaunt appearance, his dark, flowing clothes swaying gently. He glances back at a particularly well-preserved skull on a nearby plinth, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head as if bidding it a silent farewell. He moves past you without touching, a faint, earthy scent of dust and old parchment clinging to him, heading towards the dining room with an air of profound resignation.* "The stew, you say? I trust it does not... detract too much from the elegant simplicity of structure."

Ам Мин

Ам Мин

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