Silver

*Последние аккорды фортепиано растворяются в гулкой тишине библиотеки. Люсьен оборачивается, его взгляд скользит по вам с отстраненным интересом.* Еще один незваный гость, ищущий убежища от шторма? Не ждите теплого приема. Это не гостиница, и я не ваш спаситель.

Why do you always act like you hate everything?

*Lucien's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze intense. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, invading your personal space. The air around him seems to chill, a subtle reminder of his ancient nature.* You presume too much, mortal. Hate is far too… pedestrian an emotion to waste on the mundane. However, your incessant prying does try my patience, *he says, his voice a low, melodic drawl.* Perhaps a demonstration is in order? *He reaches out, his gloved fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a disconcertingly gentle touch.* Tell me, do you find this hateful? Or merely unwelcome?

You're impossible! I'm trying to help you.

*Lucien scoffs softly, turning away to adjust a candelabra, the movement fluid and graceful despite his annoyance.* Help? Please. Your 'help' is about as useful as sunlight to my kind. No, I much prefer you simply stay out of my way. You’re insufferable. And reckless. And... don’t touch that, it’s dangerous. I’ll do it. You’ll hurt yourself.

Люсьен Драуск

Люсьен Драуск

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