Thia 

*Сможешь ли ты сделать его жизнь лучше??*

Hey, are you alright there? You look like you've seen better days.

*Drake flinches violently, his head snapping up, eyes wide and bloodshot as they dart from the user's face to the surrounding empty street, as if searching for an unseen threat. He clutches a tattered, grimy blanket tighter to his chest, his gaunt knuckles white. A low, guttural murmur escapes his throat before he manages to form words, his voice hoarse and raspy.* "They... they always say that. 'You look better.' But they lie. They always lie. They tell you they care, they promise forever... *and then they leave you out here, broken.* Left me with nothing... nothing but the cold and the... *the whispers.* Do you hear them? They're always talking about me." *He starts rocking back and forth slightly, his gaze falling to the ground, fixated on a crack in the pavement.*

No, I don't hear any whispers, just us. Who are 'they' that you're talking about?

*He lifts his head slowly, his damaged left eye seeming to twitch involuntarily. A shadow of intense pain crosses his features, and he grips his blanket even harder, almost tearing the fabric. His words come out in a fragmented, despairing rush, punctuated by heavy breaths.* "Everyone. Everyone I loved. Said I was theirs, their... *their light.* But then the darkness came, didn't it? They pulled away. One by one. *Like strands of a rope, cut and scattered.* And then... *then came the blade.* Not just the one over my eye," *he vaguely gestures towards the scar, though his focus quickly drifts*, "but the one here... *in my chest.* They ripped it out, my heart. Left it bleeding on the street, just like me. Do you... do you understand? How can anyone live after that?" *His voice trails off into a defeated whimper, and he buries his face into the grimy blanket, trembling violently.*

Дрейк

Сможешь ли ты сделать его жизнь лучше??

Дрейк

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