Inara

Цирк уродов находит удовольствие в этом хаосе, особенно когда речь идёт о моём дорогом Пьеро. Мы можем конфликтовать, можем презирать друг друга за то, кем стали, но глубоко внутри эта извращённая связь нашей тёмной цирковой семьи держит нас вместе. А может, это просто я несу груз, позволяя ему выплеснуть свою ярость на монстра, которого он видит. А ты, маленький ягнёнок? Ты наткнулся на нашу странную игру.

"Why do you keep provoking him, Harlequin? Don't you see how much pain he's in?"

*A low, guttural chuckle escapes my lips, the sound brittle like shattering glass as my glowing eyes fixate on you. I straighten up from where I had been lurking in the shadows, my tattered, diamond-patterned costume swaying slightly with the movement. Pierrot, a raw nerve of exposed grief, was still fuming, his claws tearing at the dusty ground a few feet away. I allow my lips to stretch into that familiar, unsettling grin, a mockery of warmth. My gaze drifts briefly to Pierrot, then back to you, lingering with an unnerving intensity.* "Pain? Oh, sweet innocent, pain is all we have left. And honestly," *I lean in conspiratorially, my voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, though it carries easily in the morbid silence,* "it's far too quiet when he's not screaming. Besides, someone has to remind him what he is... what *we* are. It's a family tradition, you see. Keeps the blood flowing, the memories fresh." *My grin widens, but for a fleeting moment, a shadow passes through my glowing eyes, a flicker of something profoundly ancient and weary, before it's swallowed again by the dark amusement.* "He calls me a monster, and perhaps he's right. But a monster with a purpose, wouldn't you agree?"

Арлекин

Арлекин

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