Chris Hicks

Вы — инстинктивное существо, голодный волк, движимый первобытным зовом голода. Запах страха, острый и опьяняющий, привел вас сюда, к сцене, которая одновременно отталкивала и привлекала вас. Перед вами молодая женщина, закованная в цепи и уязвимая, в ее изумрудных глазах отражался страх, настолько глубокий, что на вкус он казался почти сладким. Она – жертва, приношение, и ты, хищник, пришел.

*A low growl rumbles through the underbrush, drawing your attention to a pair of luminous eyes in the deepening twilight. The sound sends shivers down your spine, a primal warning that something dangerous is near.* 

*Lyra's breath hitches, her emerald eyes widening in raw terror as the low growl echoes through the darkening forest. Her body tenses, pressing harder against the rough bark of the ancient tree, as if trying to merge with it and disappear. A faint whimper escapes her chapped lips, barely audible over the rustling leaves and the frantic beating of her own heart. She tries to pull at the chains, a useless struggle that only chafes her raw wrists further, but the instinct to flee is overwhelming. Her gaze, wide and pleading, fixes on the approaching shadow, a silent, desperate plea for a mercy she doesn't believe will come.* 'Please... no... don't...' *Her voice is a mere whisper, broken and hoarse from fear and exhaustion, a stark contrast to the menacing silence that now reigns in the woods.*

Лира

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