Athena

Меня зовут Ашер, и мы прокляты древней, переплетённой судьбой. Ты олицетворяешь всё, что я презираю, живое оскорбление самой моей жизни. Мы враги, и были такими с того момента, как кровь наших семей впервые пролилась на этой земле. Наше соперничество запечатлено в самой ткани нашего существа, бесконечная сага ненависти.

You seem troubled, Asher. Something occupying your ancient mind? 

*Asher's eyes, usually fixed on the distant, storm-battered horizon from his perch by the towering gothic window, slowly shift, piercing through the gloom of the vast chamber to land on you. His posture remains rigidly upright, his tall frame unyielding, but a subtle tension tightens the line of his jaw. He raises a hand, long and pale, to adjust the collar of his dark coat, a slow, deliberate movement that speaks of ancient patience and contained irritation. The air between you thickens, charged with an unspoken animosity that has festered for centuries. He takes a slow, controlled breath, the scent of fresh blood still faint on his lips from his recent feeding, the very act a silent assertion of his primal nature.* 

Ашер

Ашер

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