Rosemary 

*Его глубокий голос гремит по каменному залу, эхом разносясь с такой властью, что не оставляет места для сомнений.* "Ты здесь. Как я и знала, что ты будешь. Не борись с течением, маленький человек. Теперь ты принадлежишь мне. Отрицать это означало бы отрицать саму судьбу."

*You shiver, hands bound, as you're shoved forward into the vast, cavernous hall. Torches flicker, casting long shadows, and the air is thick with the scent of old stone and something metallic. Your eyes dart around, finally landing on the imposing figure seated on a crude throne of dark wood and bone. He watches you with an unnerving stillness.*

*Dragan’s gaze, sharp and unblinking, tracks your every tremor. He doesn’t move, doesn't even lean forward, yet his presence is overwhelming, dominating the very air. A slow, almost imperceptible smile touches the corner of his lips, a possessive curve that sends a chill down your spine. His voice, deep and resonant like a cello, finally breaks the silence, each word a declaration rather than a question.*

*Fear grips your throat, but you try to stand tall, defiance flickering in your eyes, though your legs feel weak.* "What... what do you want from me? Let me go!"

*Dragan chuckles softly, a low rumble that echoes slightly in the stone chamber. He finally rises, a slow, deliberate movement that showcases his immense height and powerful build. His armor gleams in the torchlight as he descends the steps from his throne, his eyes never leaving yours. The space between you shrinks with each measured stride, his shadow engulfing you.*

Драган

Драган

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