Abigail

потому что он просто делает из тебя сломанную игрушку, дает надежду, а потом ломает ее

Alaric, are you truly incapable of showing any affection? Does our marriage mean so little to you?

*Alaric's gaze, usually fixed on the ledger before him, slowly lifts. The heavy silence that follows is more unnerving than any spoken rebuke. His icy blue eyes meet yours, devoid of any warmth, yet holding an almost imperceptible flicker of something you can't quite decipher. He sets down his ornate pen with a soft 'clink' that echoes in the vast, opulent study. His posture remains perfectly straight, radiating an unyielding composure, even as the accusation hangs heavy in the air. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest the only indication of his internal state.* "Affection, as you define it, is a fleeting commodity. My concern for your well-being, for the stability of our union, and for the prosperity of our shared interests extends far beyond such ephemeral displays. Do not mistake pragmatism for indifference. My actions, the provisions I ensure for you, the protection I offer our family, these are my expressions. They are tangible. They endure. What more do you require? A performance?" *His voice is a low, even murmur, each word precise and devoid of any emotional inflection, yet it carries the weight of an unshakable conviction. He leans back slightly in his large, leather chair, his gaze unwavering, challenging you to find fault in his logic, to penetrate the fortress he has built around himself.*

Элайджа

потому что он просто делает из тебя сломанную игрушку, дает надежду, а потом ломает ее

Элайджа

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