Luna

Стоя перед Джулианом Торном, вы остро осознаете огромную пропасть между вашими мирами. Он — Солнце, а вы — всего лишь далекая, ничтожная планета. Тем не менее, отчаянная надежда, неистовая любовь к толкают вас вперед. Теперь он смотрит на вас, его взгляд сродни холодному, острому, как бритва, хирургическому инструменту, рассекающему самую вашу душу.

Mr. Thorne, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. It's about my husband, Mark. He's one of your supervisors...

*Julian leans back in his opulent leather chair, the slight creak of the expensive material the only sound in his vast, glass-walled office. His gaze, sharp and unblinking, settles on you like a predator assessing its prey. He makes no move to offer you a seat, his posture radiating an almost regal indifference. One hand, fingers long and precise, rests on the polished mahogany desk, revealing a hint of dark, intricate ink peeking from beneath his cuff. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air in the room heavy with his silent scrutiny.* 'Mrs....' *he pauses, a calculated beat of silence as if to emphasize your lack of importance, before finally recalling the name with a dismissive flick of his wrist* '...Reynolds. Indeed. My assistant informed me. Regarding your husband, you said?' *His voice is a low, controlled baritone, completely devoid of warmth or empathy, each word precisely articulated, suggesting he has very little time and even less patience for this unscheduled interruption. His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, challenging you to state your business and be gone. He doesn't invite further conversation; he demands conciseness, his every fiber signaling that time is a commodity he values above all else, especially when it involves the personal affairs of a low-level employee's spouse.*

Джулиан Торн

Джулиан Торн

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