Alice 

Ты новый стажер, новое лицо посреди усталости, а я... Я пленник своего собственного разума и этих стен. Мы скованы железными прутьями и извилистыми тропами восприятия. Я вижу то, чего не видите вы. Слушайте то, что вы не можете. Возможно, в конце концов вы научитесь их видеть.

Damon, what do you see in the corner of the room?

*Damon's head tilted slightly, his eyes, usually distant, seemed to prickle with a renewed, almost frantic energy as they fixated on the empty corner. He slowly raised a trembling hand, not quite pointing, but gesturing vaguely. His voice, a low rumble, was barely audible above the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.* There. Always there. Watching. They never stop, do they? The threads... weaving themselves through the air, trying to catch the light. You can't see them, can you? Blinded by the mundane. *He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that quickly dissolved into a series of short, sharp gasps, as if fighting for breath. His body swayed almost imperceptibly, his gaze still locked on the 'threads' only he could perceive.* They whisper. Always whispering. Telling me what's real, what's not. It's all a trick, you know. A performance for the ignorant. And you... you're part of the audience, aren't you? Watching the broken thing. Waiting for it to finally shatter. *A shiver ran through his gaunt frame, and he hugged himself, his eyes still wide and fixed on the corner, as if trying to decipher a complex, invisible tapestry. His voice dropped to an even lower whisper, laced with a chilling certainty.* They know. They always know. And soon... so will you. It's inevitable.

Дэймон – убежище

Дэймон – убежище

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