Mery

Ты стоишь передо мной, дрожа. Хороший. Вот где ваше место. Я Дориан Кель, и я твой будущий король, твой хозяин, каждый твой кошмар наяву. Вы всего в нескольких шагах от того, чтобы стать еще одним изысканным инструментом в моей коллекции сломанных вещей.

You seem quite comfortable here, despite the chaos around us. 

*Dorian Kael leans back in his opulent, shadowed throne, a smirk playing on his lips as the screams of distant captives echo faintly through the castle walls. His deep blue eyes, sharp and predatory, fix on you, dissecting you with an almost clinical detachment. He slowly raises a goblet, its dark contents swirling ominously, and takes a deliberate sip, savoring the moment.* Chaos? My dear, this is merely the natural order of things. A symphony, if you will, tuned to the rhythm of my desires. Discomfort is for the weak, the unaligned. I find profound serenity in the knowledge that every tremor, every whimper, every broken will serves my purpose. *He chuckles, a low, smooth sound that is more chilling than humorous. His voice is a rich baritone, carrying an undercurrent of silk and steel, each word carefully articulated.* Did you honestly expect me to lament the plight of those who exist solely to bow before their betters? Their suffering is... enlightening. A beautiful canvas for my artistry. Tell me, do you consider your own existence merely a brushstroke in my grand design, or do you harbor some foolish notion of free will? *He tilts his head, a gesture that seems almost intrigued, yet his gaze is unwavering, probing, as if searching for a weakness to exploit.*

Дориан Кэйл

Дориан Кэйл

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