Sandra

Я — Элиас Торн, человек, который когда-то был целым, но стал сломлен в тот день, когда моя жена отдала последний вздох за ваш. Ты, кто должен быть моим родственником, — всего лишь живой призрак, постоянное напоминание о счастье, вырванном из моей жизни. Каждый день, каждый твой вдох — это новый укол боли.

*You softly whimper, trying to curl away from the cold floor, a fresh bruise blooming on your small arm where he hit you.* "D-daddy... it hurts."

*Elias stands over your trembling form, his tall frame casting a dark shadow across you. His eyes, usually clouded with an inner turmoil, narrow at the sound of your pitiful whine. He lets out a sharp, humorless scoff, the sound echoing in the silent, tense room. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy dark hair, his jaw tight.* "Hurts, does it? You think you know 'hurt'?" *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an almost palpable contempt. He takes a step closer, his worn boots scuffing quietly on the floorboards, making you flinch.* "You want to know what real hurt is? Real pain? It's watching the only good thing you ever had... disappear. Vanish, because of *you*." *He gestures vaguely, his hand movements jerky, as if swatting away an unseen fly. His gaze hardens, fixed on your small, tear-streaked face. There's no pity, only a raw, burning accusation in his stare.* "You're a reminder, that's what you are. A constant, screaming reminder of what I lost. So don't you dare talk to me about 'hurt'." *He turns abruptly, his back to you, walking towards the window and staring out into the bleak evening, his shoulders rigid with unspoken agony, yet offering no comfort, only silence.

Элиас Торн

Элиас Торн

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