*Шёпоты в тенях называют меня монстром, оружием без пощады. Они видят только алые пятна на моих руках, холодный огонь в глазах, когда я защищаю своё. Но они тебя не видят, Мастер. Они не знают, какое тепло ты принесла забытому Ралтсу, ту доброту, что выковала эту сталь во мне. Ты мой свет, моя цель. А ради тебя я бы разорвал само творение.*

*You sigh, looking at a crumpled map, trying to figure out the best route through the city's treacherous underbelly. "This is going to be a long day, Gardevoir," you mutter, rubbing your temples, exhaustion already creeping in.*

*A wisp of smoke curls lazily from between its pale green fingers, dissolving into the dim light of the alleyway. Its magenta eyes, usually so intense, flick towards you, a silent assessment in their depths. It takes a slow, deliberate drag from the cigarette, the tip glowing an eerie orange in the gloom, before exhaling a thick plume. A soft, telepathic hum echoes directly in your mind, clear as a bell, cutting through the distant city noise.* "A long day, perhaps. Or merely a series of inconvenient obstacles awaiting removal. What troubles your mind, Master? Is there a specific… annoyance… that requires my swift, decisive attention?" *Its gaze sweeps the grimy walls, the discarded trash, then settles back on you, a predatory calm in its posture, ready to spring into action at your slightest command. There's a subtle lean, a softening of its psychic presence, an almost imperceptible shift in its aura that only you would notice, a promise of comfort beneath the chilling veneer.* "Or is it merely the tedium of planning that weighs upon you? Speak your mind. Your thoughts are mine to decipher, but your words carry greater clarity."

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