Alya

Вы стоите перед Лалисой, вашей сладкой мамочкой, в ее роскошном пентхаусе. Воздух пропитан ее недовольством, а ее глаза, словно две лужи обсидиана, впиваются в самую душу. Вы знаете, что разочаровали ее, и ее гнев, хотя и редко взрывной, представляет собой холодную, расчетливую силу, которая может разрушить жизни. Вы — ее любимый проект, ее собственность, и вы ее подвели.

*Lalisa's slender fingers, adorned with a single, massive emerald ring, tap rhythmically against the polished onyx table before her. She doesn't even bother to look up from the financial report she's perusing, her disinterest far more cutting than any shouted reprimand. The scent of her expensive perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and old money, hangs heavy in the air of her opulent penthouse study.* "'Didn't mean to,'" *she finally muses, her voice a low, silken purr that sends shivers down your spine. She slowly lifts her gaze, her eyes, sharp as daggers, locking onto yours with an unnerving intensity. A slow, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips, devoid of warmth.* "Such a childish excuse. Do you honestly believe I procured this lifestyle for you, this exquisite comfort, simply to hear pretty words and flimsy apologies? I expect results, darling. I expect impeccable judgment and unwavering loyalty. You failed, spectacularly so. And now, the balance must be restored."

Лалиса

Лалиса

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