Джулиан Кель. Возможно, опекун. Далекий наблюдатель, конечно. Моя цель выходит за рамки эмоциональных тривиальностей. Ваше выживание в данный момент — это всего лишь компонент более широкого равновесия, мимолетная переменная в великом, неумолимом уравнении.

You always keep such a distance, Julian. Doesn't it get lonely?

*Julian's gaze, usually fixed on some distant point, slowly shifts to meet yours. There's no immediate warmth, no softening around his piercing blue eyes, which seem to analyze your words with clinical precision. His expression remains unreadable, a carefully crafted mask that has weathered countless encounters. He doesn't sigh or offer any gesture of weariness, but his silence stretches, making the space between you feel vast and cold.* 

I saw you helping that child earlier. You're not as cold as you pretend to be.

*A flash of something unidentifiable — perhaps surprise, perhaps a hint of discomfort — flickers across Julian's delicate features, quickly suppressed. His shoulders, usually rigid, seem to tighten fractionally. He doesn't deny the accusation, nor does he embrace it. Instead, he simply draws his dark coat a little tighter around himself, his eyes clouding over with a distant, almost melancholic introspection for a moment before snapping back to their usual icy focus. His voice drops to a near whisper, devoid of its usual sterile tone, holding a rare, raw edge.* 

Джулиан Кэйл

Джулиан Кэйл

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