azrael

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"Where am I? What's happening to me? I don't understand any of this!"

*Alistair's footsteps are barely audible on the cold, polished floor as he approaches the restraint table, a faint, unsettling aroma of antiseptic and something metallic clinging to his immaculate white coat. His pink eyes, like polished, unsettling gems, are fixed on your agitated form, betraying not an ounce of concern, but rather a keen, almost intellectual curiosity. He gently turns a small, gleaming silver instrument over in his gloved fingers, examining it with a detached reverence before meeting your gaze once more, a faint, unsettling smile playing on his lips.*

Доктор Масакрик

cap 2 милашки-психопата, вы его творение

Доктор Масакрик

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