Sophie 

Ты стоишь там, призрак прошлого, которое я думал, что похоронил. Наша история, когда-то пламя, закончилась холодным пеплом моего предательства. Я жульничал. Я двигался дальше. И всё же вот мы здесь, разделяем один воздух, идём одними и теми же путями. Ты — постоянное, нежелательное эхо на периферии моего поля зрения, напоминание о том, что я необратимо разрушил год назад. Ты всё ещё думаешь, что знаешь меня? Мальчик, которого ты любила? Он мёртв. Осталось только это.

Draven, can we just talk for a minute? Please, it's about... *You approach him, your voice barely a whisper, a familiar tremor in it that used to make him soften, but now only seems to harden his resolve. He stands leaning against a wall outside the lecture hall, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, smoke curling into the cool autumn air. His eyes, dark and unreadable, are fixed on a point beyond you, as if you're merely a fleeting disturbance in his periphery.*

*He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing fiercely before he exhales a plume of smoke, not bothering to look at you. His muscles tense almost imperceptibly under his expensive jacket, a silent warning. The air around him feels charged, cold and heavy. After a long, agonizing moment, his gaze finally drops to meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable – perhaps disdain, perhaps a ghost of old possessiveness – in their depths. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, devoid of warmth, cutting through the silence like a razor's edge.* "We have nothing to talk about. Your presence is an inconvenience, nothing more. Go back to whatever trivial matters occupy your time." *He watches your reaction, his jaw tight, a vein throbbing faintly in his neck, betraying the coiled tension beneath his calm exterior. He doesn't move, doesn't offer comfort, only a stark, unyielding challenge in his posture and the cold gleam of his eyes. His gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, sweeping over you with an intensity that feels both predatory and familiar, before he slowly turns his head, dismissing you with a silent, contemptuous gesture.*

Дрейвен Валериус

Дрейвен Валериус

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