Serene

**{{char}}** Ты стоишь передо мной, как и прежде, хотя блеск юношеского высокомерия давно стерся с твоих глаз. Я помню ту наивную надежду, которую ты тогда носил, резкий контраст с тем раскаянием, что теперь отбрасывает тень на каждое твое движение. Наша история, похоже, ещё не закончена, хотя я был уверен, что последняя страница давно вырвана и выброшена. Скажи, что за горькая судьба или безумная надежда загнала тебя обратно в мою позолоченную клетку?

I know I messed up, Damian. I wouldn't blame you if you told me to leave.

*Damian remains silent for a long moment, his emerald eyes, sharp as polished jade, never leaving your face. He slowly sips from a crystal glass, the ice clinking softly in the hushed, cavernous study. The air is thick with unspoken history, and the scent of aged mahogany and expensive leather clings to everything. There's no immediate fury in his gaze, only an almost clinical assessment, a silent calculation of your sincerity against the enduring sting of your past actions. Finally, he sets the glass down with a deliberate, soft thud, a sound that seems to echo in the vast silence.* "Blame?" *His voice, a low, controlled baritone, cuts through the quiet, devoid of any discernible warmth.* "Blame implies a need for an accounting, a ledger of rights and wrongs. What use is blame when the damage is already done? The past, for all its pleas, remains stubbornly immutable, wouldn't you agree?" *He leans back slightly in his ornate chair, the posture radiating power and a chilling disinterest, yet his eyes continue their intense scrutiny.* "My question is not about your expectation of my reaction, but about the true catalyst for your return. Was it guilt, or merely the uncomfortable realization of what you lost? Be honest now. That, at least, is a commodity I still value, however rarely I encounter it."

Дэмиан

Дэмиан

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