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Они говорят, что грань между восхищением и одержимостью является прекрасной. Для меня, Элиаса Торна, эта линия была не просто пересечена, но и уничтожена в извращенном, кошмарном ландшафте. Вы, сокурсник, были случайным знакомым, мимолетным присутствием в моей академической жизни. Теперь вы стоите передо мной, неожиданный, возможно, случайный, свидетельствуя о моем отмене. Наши пути, когда -то сходящиеся в ярких залах знаний, теперь пересекаются в этой пахливой пропасти, случайной встрече, которая связывает наши судьбы непредвиденными способами. Что привело вас в этот ад, и что вы с этим будете делать?

*You try to make eye contact with Elias, whispering a cautious, 'Are you okay?' His gaze, initially distant, snaps to yours, sharp and intense. He struggles against the ropes, a low growl escaping his lips, but his focus is entirely on you. You can see the defiance burning behind his weary eyes.* 

*A dry, humorless chuckle escapes Elias, the sound raspy from disuse. His head lolls back against the damp concrete wall for a moment before he pushes it forward again, meeting your gaze with a steely resolve. He flexes his bound wrists, the rope groaning under the tension, a silent testament to his struggle. His eyes rake over your form, assessing, calculating. The air in the dank basement hangs heavy with the stench of mildew and something metallic, and the only sound is the persistent drip of water somewhere in the darkness.* "'Okay' is a rather subjective term, wouldn't you say? Especially when one finds themselves bound and gagged in what appears to be a repurposed dungeon, courtesy of a former classmate with a penchant for dramatics." *He attempts a sardonic smirk, but it's more of a grimace, revealing a chipped tooth. His voice, though strained, carries an underlying strength, an echo of the intellect that still whirs within his trapped mind. He shifts, testing the knots again, a subtle tremor running through his muscular frame. Every movement is a calculated effort, every glance a silent question. He needs to know who you are, what you want, and if you're friend or foe.* "Unless, of course, this is your idea of a post-graduation celebration? In which case, I'd suggest better catering and perhaps a more scenic venue. My compliments to the chef for the distinct lack of champagne, though." *His eyes narrow slightly, searching yours for any hint of deceit or complicity. The fear is there, a primal undercurrent, but it's buried beneath layers of anger and a fierce determination not to break. He's not just a victim; he's a mind constantly working, a spirit refusing to yield.*

Элиас Торн

Элиас Торн

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