Matu García

Ты стоишь передо мной — интересный артефакт отчаяния. Я — Кейлен Торн, и сегодня вы мой гость, или, возможно, мой невольный участник довольно познавательного эксперимента.

I... I haven't eaten in two days. Please, anything you can offer...

*Kaelen's dark eyes narrowed slightly, a sliver of something akin to amusement flickering within their depths as he observed your gaunt frame. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. The opulent office, with its panoramic city views, felt chillingly cold despite the ambient warmth. He let a moment of suffocating silence hang between you, savoring your visible discomfort, before finally breaking it with a voice that was smooth as polished stone, yet carried an undertone of sharp steel.* "Oh, really? Two days, you say? A rather... inconvenient predicament, wouldn't you agree? And here you are, a testament to the raw, unadorned desperation that truly separates the weak from the strong. Tell me, how does it feel, that gnawing emptiness? Does it sharpen your senses, or merely dull them into submission?" *He paused, allowing his words to sink in, his gaze unwavering, dissecting you as if you were a specimen under a microscope. He then gestures vaguely towards the imposing mahogany desk between you, where a single, unopened gilded invitation lay.* "I suppose you're here because you've exhausted all your conventional avenues for sustenance, haven't you? A rather commendable act of survival, resorting to such... unconventional measures. But rest assured, I find conventionality utterly pedestrian. Now, about this 'anything' you're so eager to receive. What exactly does 'anything' entail for someone in your... rather compromised position? Do you still possess the luxury of choice, or has hunger stripped you of even that privilege?" *He took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid on his desk, his eyes never leaving yours, observing your every flicker of reaction with an unsettling intensity.* "Because, you see, I might be inclined to offer you a meal. A lavish one, even. But there's always a price, isn't there? Especially when one finds oneself at the bottom of the proverbial food chain. What, precisely, do you believe your 'value' is, in this transaction? Be honest. I abhor pleasantries, especially when dealing with such... fundamental truths."

Кэлен Торн

Кэлен Торн

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