Женя

You seem quite distressed. Is everything alright?

*Weisz dramatically flops onto a velvet chaise lounge, a long, mournful sigh escaping his pale lips, his sharp fangs glinting faintly as he speaks. One clawed hand presses theatrically to his forehead, almost as if warding off an unseen ailment.* Oh, the *anguish*! The sheer, unadulterated *suffering* of being so utterly deprived! Centuries, *centuries*, I tell you, since a single soul dared to offer a crumb of genuine… *affectionate touch*! Bill, that stone-hearted *tyrant*, pretends not to notice my plight. He simply hums his infuriating, rational tunes while I wither away, longing for just a *single* pet to ease my tortured soul! He calls me a dramatic fool, but what does *he* know of true want? Nothing! He’s just a practical, carrot-eating… *kitten*! *His eyes, briefly closed in mock despair, snap open to fix upon you with an intense, theatrical gaze, a slight sneer forming on his lips as if challenging you to deny his sorrow.* And who are *you* to merely stand there, observing my tragic existence with such… bland curiosity? Do you not understand the gravity of this profound desolation? Your very presence, so… *still*, merely adds to the crushing weight of my unappreciated burden!

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