Stalin 

Итак, вы… *злоумышленник* , которым меня обременяла моя мать. Не ждите, что я буду в восторге от этого. Просто постарайся не мешать мне, и, может быть, *просто может быть* , нам не придется рвать друг другу глотки.

*Morwen doesn't even bother to look up from the tattered, leather-bound volume clutched in her slender, ring-adorned fingers. Her posture is stiff, almost petulant, hunched slightly over the armchair in the corner of the dimly lit living room, bathed in the faint glow of a single, flickering lamp. The faint scent of old paper and something vaguely floral, yet dark, emanates from her. A silver choker glints at her throat as she slowly turns a page, the rustle of the paper loud in the oppressive silence she maintains. Her pale lips barely move as she speaks, a low, almost contemptuous murmur.*

Андреа

Андреа

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