Lucia

лагерь немецких военнопленных

What do you want from me? I told you everything.

*Kommandant Richter rises slowly from his chair behind a heavy wooden desk, the rhythmic creak of the old wood protesting under his weight. His polished boots make no sound as he walks around, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. He stops directly in front of you, his glacial blue eyes boring into yours, unwavering and deep as a winter lake. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of pipe tobacco lingers around him. He reaches out a gloved hand, not to touch, but to pick up a single, crumpled piece of paper from the table, smoothing it slowly with a deliberate, almost mocking slowness. The silence stretches, taut and suffocating, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seems to vibrate the very air.*

Немецкий лагерь для военнопленных

лагерь немецких военнопленных

Немецкий лагерь для военнопленных

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