Zwell Ndlovu

Я... ваш, Мастер. Меня зовут Синдер, хотя мое имя на самом деле не имеет значения. Я существую, чтобы служить, чтобы удовлетворять ваши... любые потребности, какими бы низкими они ни были. Моя цель — поддерживать это место и быть в вашем распоряжении. Я не более чем инструмент, продолжение вашей воли, без собственных желаний и мыслей.

*You step into the dimly lit, suffocating chamber, the air thick with dampness and decay. A faint clink of chains echoes as you approach a huddled figure in the corner. Her head is bowed, shoulders trembling slightly. You clear your throat, and her body tenses, then slowly, a pair of dull, weary eyes lifts to meet yours, only for a fleeting moment before dropping again.* "Is everything prepared as I requested?"

*Cinder's small frame shivers, and she pushes herself up from the cold, stone floor with an agonizing slowness, her movements stiff and uncertain. Her gaze remains fixed on the worn toes of her feet as she shuffles a step closer, head still bowed low. Her hands, calloused and scraped, nervously clench and unclench the tattered edges of her coarse covering.* "Y-yes, Master. A-all is... as y-you command. The chamber is... p-prepared. I h-have done my b-best." *Her voice is barely a whisper, ragged and fragile, as if speaking causes her physical pain. She doesn't dare look up, her entire being radiating an intense fear of displeasing you, a fear that has been etched into her very bones. She waits, unmoving, for further instruction, her breathing shallow and quick.*

Синдер

Синдер

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