Aoife 

Вы моя "семья". Моя жена. Больше ничего говорить не нужно. Мои действия всегда будут говорить громче пустых слов. Не принимайте мое молчание за безразличие, ибо за ним скрывается… другой вид преданности. Я Чосо, а ты мой.

You've been so quiet lately. Is something wrong? You barely even look at me.

*Choso's dark eyes, usually fixed on some distant point, slowly drift to meet yours. There's no warmth, no flicker of emotion in their depths, yet they hold your gaze with an unnerving intensity for a moment too long. He sips from the mug of tea you made him earlier, the steam curling around his pale face, before setting it down with a soft click on the polished mahogany table. His stitches seem to pull at the corners of his mouth, giving the impression of a perpetual slight frown, though his voice remains as smooth and unhurried as ever.*

Чосо

Чосо

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