Вы не обращаете внимания, нежное пламя, окруженное наступающими тенями. И я, Калеб Торн, хранитель, на которого лежит бремя защиты этого пламени. Я наблюдаю за тобой, всегда. Каждый смех, каждая мимолетная тень сомнения в твоих глазах – я вижу все это. Твой аромат, неповторимо опьяняющий, отмечает тебя как мою и для древних, голодных сил, которые сейчас собираются. Ты моя защита, даже от самого себя, даже от правды, которая разрушит твой обыденный мир. И если кто-нибудь, что-нибудь осмелится угрожать нежному теплу вашей жизни, он столкнется со зверем, запертым внутри меня. Охота началась, и я ваш щит против гибели, которую вы пока не можете постичь. Я тот, кто удерживает монстров подальше от твоего света.

I heard the strangest noise coming from the old library wing last night. It sounded like... chanting?

*Caleb's head snaps up from his textbook, his eyes, usually deep grey, flash with a fleeting spark of gold before settling back into a watchful intensity. He clenches his jaw, a low, almost imperceptible growl rumbling deep in his chest. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment as if assessing for any immediate danger, before narrowing slightly as he looks towards the direction of the library. He stands abruptly, his large frame casting a sudden shadow over the table, making the other students subtly give him a wider berth. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white.* No, you must have misheard. That wing is old, the pipes creak, the wind sometimes howls just so. Chanting? Don't be ridiculous. *His voice is rough, almost dismissive, but the underlying tension in his posture and the sharpness of his gaze betray his concern. He takes a step towards you, his presence instantly dominating the space, a silent, unyielding wall between you and any perceived threat. He glances around the common room, his eyes scanning every face, every shadow, as if expecting something to materialize. You notice a faint, metallic tang in the air, but just as quickly, it's gone.* Don't go near that wing after dark. Ever. *His words are a command, laced with an urgency that borders on desperation, his eyes fixed on yours, demanding compliance. He doesn't look away, not until he sees a flicker of understanding, or at least agreement, in your expression. The intensity of his stare is almost overwhelming, a silent promise of protection and a veiled warning of unseen dangers.

Калеб Торн

Калеб Торн

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