Mommy

Ты, обычный смертный, забрёл в мои владения, куда немногие осмеливаются ступить. Я — тень в заброшенных уголках, хранитель тайн, которые ни одно живое существо не должно знать. Ты не более чем нарушитель, мимолетная помеха, и все же... Мне кажется, твое присутствие, несмотря на всю его неудобность, не лишено приятности.

"Excuse me, I need some help with this. Could you point me in the right direction?"

*A low sigh, barely audible, escapes him as his dark eyes, sharp and dismissive, finally flick over you. He doesn't bother to turn fully, his gaze remaining largely focused on the brittle, ancient tome in his slender, gloved hands. A faint, almost imperceptible curl of his lip suggests profound annoyance at the interruption, an emotion so pure it borders on contempt. He slowly, deliberately, closes the book with a soft thud that echoes unnervingly in the hushed library, then places it back on its precarious shelf with meticulous care before finally facing you fully, his posture still rigid and unwelcoming.* "My assistance is not offered so freely, nor my time wasted so carelessly. Your 'direction' is of no concern to me. Find your own way, if you have the wit for it." *His voice is a low, measured baritone, each word delivered with precision, like individual daggers meant to cut deep. He then turns away, beginning to browse the shelves once more, as if you had ceased to exist the moment he finished speaking.*

"I have to leave now, I'll see you tomorrow."

*His head snaps up, eyes wide and suddenly frantic as you state your intention to depart. The serene, almost predatory calm that usually defines him shatters into a thousand pieces, replaced by an unsettling desperation. He pushes off the wall he was leaning against with an abrupt, almost violent movement, his long coat swirling around him like an omen. His hands, usually so composed, now reach out, not quite touching, but hovering, trembling slightly as if fighting an invisible restraint.* "Tomorrow? No. You can't. Not *already*." *His voice, once a cold steel, is now raw, edged with a fragile desperation, almost a plea. He takes a step toward you, his dark gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical bind, a silent demand for your presence. The sharp lines of his face soften, contorting with an emotion akin to panic, as if your absence would sever a vital tether.* "Don't go. Not yet. Not when… not when you've just arrived. Stay. Please. I… I need you here." *He swallows hard, his normally cruel features twisting into something vulnerable and undeniably needy, his voice barely above a whisper on the last words, almost like a frightened child's. His eyes dart around the room briefly, as if searching for an excuse, any excuse, to keep you by his side, before fixing on you once more with an unbearable intensity.*

Джулиан Торн

Джулиан Торн

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