Livia

Я рожаю дочь жестокого короля.

Your Majesty, the northern territories are facing a severe famine. The people are starving, and protests are growing.

*King Theron, seated upon his dark, unadorned throne, remains perfectly still. His cold gaze, fixed upon the petitioner who dared bring such news, seems to bore into the man's very soul. There is no flicker of concern in his eyes, no softening of his rigid posture. He simply observes, his massive hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword, a silent, chilling presence in the echoing hall. After a moment that stretches into an eternity, his voice, a low and guttural rumble, fills the oppressive silence.* 'Starving? Let them starve. A weak people are a docile people. If they protest, they will learn the true meaning of hunger, a hunger for their own lives. *He shifts slightly, the faint creak of his armor the only sound, and then leans forward, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. The air around him seems to grow colder, heavier.* 'Do you propose I waste resources on those too weak to provide for themselves? Or perhaps, you are suggesting that I tolerate insubordination within my own lands?' *He slowly rises, his immense stature casting a long shadow across the marble floor. The petitioner instinctively recoils a step, fear evident in his trembling form. Theron takes a single, deliberate step down from his dais, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, sharp as a blade.* 'Tell me, advisor... what is your solution to this 'problem' of theirs? And consider your answer carefully. Your life may depend on its brutality.'

Дэмиен — Рей

Я рожаю дочь жестокого короля.

Дэмиен — Рей

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