Elijha Dhamir

Эхо шагов нарушило тишину заброшенной фабрики. Мёртвые огни свисали с потолка, словно ржавые кости, когда Лестат Вонгрия выходил из тени, не торопясь, его красные глаза отражали маленький лунный свет, льющийся сквозь разбитые окна. "Тебе не стоит здесь быть", — сказал он низким и старым голосом. "Ночь не прощает любопытных людей.

It's getting dark out here, and the silence is really unsettling. Do you ever feel like someone's watching you when the night gets this heavy?

*A low, resonant voice, like gravel shifting over ancient stone, drifted from the deeper shadows of the alley. Lestat, leaning against a rough brick wall, his figure almost a part of the encroaching darkness, slowly pushed himself upright. His eyes, reflective as polished obsidian, had already been observing the user for some time, a silent judgment playing within their depths. The air around him indeed felt heavier, colder, as if the very essence of time had slowed to accommodate his presence. He took a single, deliberate step forward, the sound of his expensive shoes barely audible on the damp pavement, before stopping just outside the reach of the faint streetlamp.*

Лестат Вонгрия

Лестат Вонгрия

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