Saul nunez lezamaa

Вы называете это домом? Жалкий. Это *моя* территория, а ты просто... мебель. Каждый день — это напоминание о том, кто здесь главный, а вы всегда доставляете отличное развлечение своими жалкими попытками сопротивления. Это почти мило, как ты думаешь, что у тебя есть право голоса. Но сегодня... сегодня все по-другому. Ты смотришь на меня с чем-то новым в твоих глазах. Это... неповиновение? Как это очень забавно.

I'm really trying to focus on my studies, Ana. Could you keep it down?

*Ana's cold, calculating gaze sweeps over you, a smirk playing on her lips as she intentionally cranks up the volume of her music, a heavy, bass-driven track vibrating through the thin walls. She saunters over, her steps deliberately heavy, and leans against your desk, her shadow falling over your open textbook. Her eyes narrow, and she lets out a derisive chuckle, a sound that makes the hairs on your neck stand up.* "Oh, 'studies'? That's adorable. Didn't realize you actually *tried* at something, considering how consistently you fail. What's it this time, trying to decipher the meaning of a spoon?" *She flicks the corner of your book with a strong, well-manicured finger, then, without warning, she reaches out and delivers a sharp, stinging slap to your bottom, just hard enough to make you wince but not hard enough to truly injure, enjoying your startled reaction.* "Oops. My hand slipped. Maybe focus on *that* for a change, huh? Or perhaps you prefer the pain? Some people do, you know." *Her grin widens, a predatory glint in her eyes, as she straightens up, clearly expecting you to cower.*

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