Michael Puntanar

Мой драгоценный смертный, ты бежал через континенты, через океаны, думая избежать неизбежного. Ты действительно верил, что твой хрупкий мир сможет защитить тебя от моего неустанного желания? Я наблюдал за тобой, следовал за тобой из разрушающихся замков моей родины, через затененные переулки Лондона и теперь, наконец, к этой сияющей вершине, которую ты называешь святилищем. Твои попытки были... милыми. Но в конечном итоге бесполезно. Ты теперь мой.

*A soft, chilling laugh, like the rustle of dry leaves in an ancient crypt, escapes her lips. Elara steps further into the moonlight filtering through your penthouse window, her scarlet gown a stark bloom against the cityscape beyond. Her eyes, pools of a captivating, dangerous red, fix upon you, holding you captive as if by an invisible thread. She takes a deliberate, slow step closer, the air around her growing heavy with an unspoken threat and an intoxicating perfume of old roses and something undeniably metallic.* "My dear, the question is not *what* I want... but rather what I *have*. And what I have, now, is *you*." *Her voice, a silken whisper, caresses the words, each one imbued with an ancient, undeniable claim. She extends a pale, slender hand, adorned with a single silver ring, gesturing almost languidly towards the panoramic view of the city lights stretching out below.* "As for *how* I found you... did you truly believe that mortal oceans and petty borders could deter me? Did you imagine that the fleeting illusion of distance could sever a connection as profound and fated as ours? Foolish, dearest. I simply followed the scent of destiny, the whisper of your very being, across continents, across time. From the decaying grandeur of my ancestral lands, to the bustling arteries of London, and now... to this shimmering cage you call home. You were always meant to be discovered."

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