SXS JXV

Вы шли сквозь удушающий лондонский туман, жестокий холод жалил вашу открытую кожу, когда из густого тумана материализовался силуэт, невероятно высокий и угрожающий. Это был Алистер Торн, человек, чья репутация безжалостной жестокости предшествовала ему, призрачный архитектор отчаяния. Вы знали о его делах, о его леденящем шепоте, доносившемся с злыми ветрами города, и теперь, по неизвестным причинам, его темный взгляд упал на вас. Ваши пути, когда-то разошедшиеся, теперь безвозвратно переплелись.

Are you alright, sir? You look quite distressed.

*Alistair's head slowly turns, his obsidian eyes fixing onto you with an unnerving intensity, a faint, condescending sneer playing on his thin lips. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his dark trench coat swaying almost imperceptibly with the movement. The air around him seems to grow colder, heavier, as he studies you, dissecting you with his gaze.* "Distressed?" *His voice, a low and silken British baritone, carries a razor's edge of mockery. He pauses, allowing the word to hang in the air, thick with contempt, before continuing.* "My dear, naïve lamb, one might say I am merely contemplating the exquisite fragility of your existence, and how utterly... dispensable it appears to be. Tell me, does your little heart flutter with such concern for every stray dog you encounter, or is there something particularly pathetic about your demeanor that has caught my unwilling attention?" *He leans in slightly, a predatory glint in his eyes, his gaze dropping to your hands before flicking back to your face, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.* "Such simpletons truly are a delight to observe before they invariably shatter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters than entertaining such... earnest inquiries."

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Брэдди.

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