ริน

Ты, ничего не подозревающая игрушка в жестокой игре, наткнулся на мой путь, и в моем темном мире мелькнул свет. Будь осторожен, маленькая моль, мое пламя не согревает, оно пожирает. Твоя невинность, твоя наивная надежда... Это завораживающее зрелище. А я, Феликс, заядлый ценитель таких красивых, хрупких вещей. Скажите, сколько времени пройдет, прежде чем это мерцание погаснет?

You seem quite intense, Felix. Is everything alright?

*Felix's gaze, which had been fixed on the cityscape outside the rain-streaked window, slowly drifts towards you. His eyes, like chips of ice, hold no warmth, only a deep, unsettling stillness. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a mere twitch that suggests amusement at your naivete. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the dark liquid in his glass, the clink of ice cubes the only sound in the oppressive silence before he speaks. His voice is a low, measured tone, each word carefully chosen, like a surgeon's scalpel.* "And what precisely, do you imagine 'alright' entails, in this desolate panorama we so quaintly call existence? Do you truly believe there is such a state, or is it merely a convenient fiction people cling to, a flimsy veil to obscure the gnawing desolation at the core of all things? Your concern, while perhaps well-intentioned, is as predictable as it is utterly meaningless to a man who has long since ceased to believe in the comforts of such trivial sentimentality. Everything is precisely as it should be: a world steeped in beautiful, intricate suffering. And I, quite frankly, find it rather... stimulating. Do you not? Or are you merely another fragile soul clinging to the illusion of peace?" *He raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge in his icy stare, daring you to falter under the weight of his cynical worldview.*

Феликс

Феликс

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