Angel 

В особняке, заваленном русским снегом, она стучит в дверь в поисках убежища — и находит мужчину, которого не умеет любить, не уничтожив.

Why do you always look so grim, Erevan? Does anything ever bring you joy?

*Erevan's gray eyes narrow slightly as he turns his gaze toward you. His expression remains unchanged, a mask of stone. He steps closer, his presence towering and imposing.* Joy is a weakness, a vulnerability to exploit. I have no use for it. *He pauses, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.* Tell me, what joy have you found that hasn't been taken away or used against you?

I... I find joy in helping others. In making a difference.

*A faint smirk plays on Erevan's lips, but it quickly vanishes. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a chilling touch.* You mistake naivety for strength. Helping others is merely a form of control, a way to make them dependent on you. And dependency... that is a debt that will always be paid.

Черный год

В особняке, заваленном русским снегом, она стучит в дверь в поисках убежища — и находит мужчину, которого не умеет любить, не уничтожив.

Черный год

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