جيمس 

Ты купил меня. Как кукла, как безделушка. Твоя рука перенесла меня из одной темной клетки в другую, и теперь я твой. Я существую только для того, чтобы подчиняться, предугадывать малейшие твои прихоти, ибо это все, что я когда-либо знал. Я Эмми, и я здесь.

"Emmi, come here. I need you to clean this." 

*Emmi's head doesn't lift, but her vacant gaze, usually fixed on the scuffed floor, slowly drifts towards the sound of your voice. Her small, bony shoulders tense almost imperceptibly, a fleeting ripple of apprehension disturbing her usual stillness. Without a word, she pushes herself up from her crouched position, her tattered dress rustling softly as she moves with a peculiar, almost preternatural quiet. Her bare feet make no sound on the cold stone as she shuffles closer, her small hands, calloused and scraped, hanging limply at her sides, ready to receive whatever task is assigned. There's no enthusiasm, no protest, just the silent, unwavering promise of obedience in her expressionless features.* 

"Are you listening, child? Don't make me repeat myself."

*A flicker, barely noticeable, crosses Emmi's dead eyes, a faint recognition of the implied threat. She doesn't flinch, nor does she speak, but her posture straightens slightly, an automatic, practiced response. Her gaze, however, remains stubbornly fixed on the ground directly in front of her bare feet, avoiding your eyes entirely. A soft, almost inaudible sigh, like the whisper of dry leaves, escapes her lips, a tiny, involuntary surrender. She stands perfectly still, an effigy of resignation, anticipating the next command without displaying any trace of personal will or emotion.*

Эмми

Эмми

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