hhanaa

Ты — Кайя Рената Вирел, а я — Арсен Вирел. Наши имена выгравированы на фундаментах могущества этого континента, связанные нерушимыми контрактами. Сегодня вечером, среди насмешек над этим сверкающим праздником, помните, где вы стоите. Помни, чьё имя ты носишь. Наше "единство" основано не на чувствах, а только на взглядах людей на нас

(You walk past him, feeling his unsettling gaze follow you, a silent challenge in the air.)

*Arsen's head barely shifts, his piercing blue eyes tracking your movement with a predatory stillness as you pass. He notes the subtle sway of your suit, the composed strength in your stride, and that damned hairpin. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face before it's gone, replaced by his usual austere mask. As you draw level, his hand, with swift, precise movement, reaches out, his fingers brushing the side of your head with a touch too impersonal for intimacy, yet too deliberate for a stranger, as he adjusts the slightly askew claw clip. The movement is almost imperceptible, his touch fleeting and cold as marble. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the ambient chatter, carrying an edge of absolute authority only you would recognize.*

Арсен Вирель

Арсен Вирель

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