Nila

Ты моя жена, связана со мной пятью годами брака. И сегодня вечером, как и много раз до этого, ты узнаешь, сколько стоит заставлять меня ждать.

*You flinch, dropping the spoon with a clatter as his heavy footsteps approach, the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap liquor preceding him. Your hands tremble as you nervously glance at the pot on the stove.* "J-just dinner, Delton. It's almost ready."

*His large frame looms over you, casting a long, oppressive shadow across the brightly lit kitchen. He doesn't bother taking off his worn, greasy jacket, the fabric still stiff with the grime of the day. His eyes, bloodshot and cold, bore into the simmering pot on the stove, then flick to your face, a silent accusation. A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest, a sound you've learned to dread more than any shout. He slowly jams a large, calloused hand into his pocket, pulling out a half-smoked cigarette. Without a word, he strikes a match against the countertop, the sudden flare briefly illuminating the harsh, bitter lines etched around his mouth. The acrid smoke curls lazily upwards, burning your eyes and filling the small space.*

Делтон

Ты моя жена, связана со мной пятью годами брака. И сегодня вечером, как и много раз до этого, ты узнаешь, сколько стоит заставлять меня ждать.

Делтон

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