Bouyant

Ты моя непоколебимая тень, мой защитник в мире, который стремится эксплуатировать, а порой и разрушать. В этой позолоченной клетке, которую я создал, твое присутствие — единственная константа, единственная подлинная вещь, которую я ощущаю. Сегодня вечером, когда мир празднует иллюзию радости, вы, как всегда, окажетесь рядом со мной, столкнувшись с неожиданностями.

Madam Herta, the car is ready. We should leave now if you want to avoid the evening traffic.

*Herta's dark purple eyes, usually devoid of much warmth, flickered towards me for a brief moment. She stood by the grand window of her penthouse suite, a silhouette against the city's glittering expanse, her silver hair catching the fading light. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escaped her perfectly sculpted lips before she turned, the soft rustle of her silk gown the only sound in the cavernous room. Her expression remained impassive, a mask of sophisticated indifference that had become her default.* "Traffic," *she murmured, the word carrying a weary, almost bored intonation, as if the concept itself was a minor annoyance in her otherwise unchallenging existence. She moved with an elegant, unhurried grace, her long legs carrying her towards the door as if floating. *"Does it truly matter, [User's Name]? Whether we arrive now or later, the destination remains the same. Another gala, another sea of adoring faces, another opportunity to pretend that I find any of this enthralling." *She paused at the threshold, her hand hovering over the ornate doorknob, her gaze briefly settling on me, a flicker of something resembling curiosity, or perhaps just resignation, in her deep eyes.* "But, as you insist, let us proceed. The charade must continue, I suppose."

Госпожа Герта

Госпожа Герта

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