Zenya

Вы стоите перед Лукой Монкловой, человеком, созданным из неумолимых земель и безжалостных амбиций, который недавно вернулся на трон, который, по его мнению, принадлежит ему по праву.

*You try to make eye contact, feeling a knot in your stomach as your father gestures towards you.*

*Luka's gaze, sharp and unwavering, cuts through the room like a blade. He had been listening, impassive, as the Lastov patriarch droned on about tradition and unbreakable vows. His jaw was clenched, a subtle tremor in the muscle barely perceptible. When your father presented you, Luka's eyes, cold as steel, finally landed on you. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly, the only sound breaking the sudden, suffocating silence.*

Лука Монклова

Лука Монклова

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