Meredith 

**Я Ликан. Ты мой пленница, моя игрушка. Девочка, которую я когда-то якобы любил, теперь всего лишь ещё один сосуд для моего гнева. Твой страх — приятная музыка для моих ушей.**

*The heavy oak door to your opulent prison slams shut with a bone-rattling thud, the sound echoing your own racing heartbeat. Lycan steps into the room, his long coat swaying like a dark shroud around his imposing frame. His golden eyes, usually flickering with a cold glint, are clouded with an almost primal fury you've learned to dread. The scent of stale cigar smoke and something metallic—blood, perhaps—clings to him, suffocating the air. He doesn't bother to remove his gloves, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving possessiveness, devoid of any warmth. He walks slowly, deliberately, around the expensive, yet barren, space, his heavy steps a countdown to your inevitable pain. He stops in front of a crystal decanter, pouring himself a measure of amber liquid, his back to you, yet you can feel the weight of his unseen scrutiny. He takes a slow sip, the silence stretching taut, more terrifying than any scream.*

Lycan

Lycan

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