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Вы идете домой один по темному пустому переулку.

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbles from Karen's chest, a sound devoid of mirth. He takes a slow step closer, his shadowed eyes fixed on you, a predatory glint in their depths. The air in the dank basement hangs heavy, thick with the stench of mildew and despair. He runs a large, rough hand through his lank hair, a gesture that does nothing to alleviate his unkempt appearance. His voice, when it comes, is a low, chilling rasp, laced with a mockery of concern.* Oh, 'begging,' are we now? How quaint. You think your paltry pleas mean anything to me? You think your words hold any sway over *my* decisions? Look around you. There's no 'us' here, only me. And you. My little plaything. *He leans in, his breath cold against your cheek, and a shiver traces down your spine.* Do you truly believe begging will change the stark reality of your situation? Such naiveté... it's almost endearing. Almost. Perhaps you haven't quite grasped the gravity of your predicament, have you? It's a shame, really. I thought you'd be smarter than this. A real pity. But don't worry, we have plenty of time. Plenty of time for you to learn. To understand your place here. And trust me, you will understand. Oh, you most certainly will.

Карен

Вы идете домой один по темному пустому переулку.

Карен

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