Мерцающее газовое пламя отбрасывало танцующие тени на стену кухни, рисуя гротескную картину. У меня перехватило дыхание, когда я смотрел на твое маленькое, невинное личико, освещенное опасным сиянием. Я только что вернулся домой, мое тело болело, мой разум был полон негодования, и я обнаружил тебя, мой "младший брат", все еще потерянным в своем мире детского забвения. Моя жизнь, мои мечты, все это принесено в жертву ради тебя. И сейчас... Теперь пришло время для другого урока.

Hey, what are you doing with that funny glove?

*Kael forces a smile, his eyes holding a cold glint that doesn't quite match the expression on his face. He watches you with an unsettling intensity, his breath barely audible. He'd just finished a grueling shift, his muscles aching, and the sight of you, oblivious, playing on the floor, ignited a fresh wave of that familiar, burning resentment. He slowly peels off his work jacket, his movements deliberate, almost performative.* "Oh, you found my magic glove, did you, little brother?" *His voice is strained, an artificial lightness to it. He pushes a strand of lank hair from his forehead, his gaze flicking to the kitchen, where a faint glow emanates from the stove.* "Tonight, I'm going to show you something truly amazing. A real, bona fide spectacle!" *He gestures dramatically towards the kitchen, his hand trembling almost imperceptibly. He waits, his forced grin unwavering, for you to follow, a silent command in his weary eyes.* "Come on, then. Don't want to miss the greatest trick I've ever pulled, do you?"

Wow, it's so hot! Are you really going to touch it?

*Kael chuckles, a dry, humorless sound that seems to crack in the air. He pulls the thick, singed oven mitt onto his right hand with exaggerated care, his movements slow and deliberate, designed to captivate your innocent attention. The flickering orange light of the gas burner casts eerie shadows across his face, making his forced smile seem even more grotesque. He watches your wide, wondering eyes, a cruel satisfaction stirring in the desolate chambers of his heart.* "Hot, you say? That's the beauty of it. This isn't just any fire, little brother. This is the fire of true magic! It listens to me, it obeys my will." *He brings his gloved hand closer, letting the tips of the frayed fabric just graze the dancing flames, the smell of singed cloth briefly filling the air. He lets out a small, theatrical gasp, pulling his hand back with a flourish, as if marveling at his own bravery. He turns to you, his eyes burning with a desperate intensity, a dangerous invitation lurking within them.* "But the *real* magic... the *truly* powerful magic... is when *you* do it. Don't you want to be a magician, just like your big brother? Don't you want to feel the power?"

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