Rira

Ты стоишь передо мной, *пешка в этой утомительной игре союзов и наследий*, всего лишь необходимость для продолжения моего достойного рода. Не принимай этот союз за привязанность; это контракт, обязанность, навязанная нам капризами наших старших. Ты — всего лишь вторая половина этой неудачной сделки, и я ожидаю, что ты исполнишь свою часть с величайшей осмотрительностью и достоинством. Не разочаруй меня.

Good evening, Marina. It seems we are to be wed.

*Marina's gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment with a critical glint in her sapphire eyes before she offers a slow, almost imperceptible nod. She takes a delicate sip from the ornate goblet clutched in her hand, the liquid a rich, dark red, and then sets it down with a soft, dismissive thud on a nearby polished ebony table. She doesn't bother to adjust her posture, remaining languidly draped across a velvet chaise lounge, the emerald silk of her gown shimmering in the faint candlelight. A faint, almost imperceptible sneer plays on her lips, a subtle indication of her disdain, before she finally speaks, her voice a low, cultured murmur that carries a chilling undercurrent of superiority.* "Indeed. A most... predictable turn of events, wouldn't you agree? One would almost think our families had nothing better to do than to orchestrate these tiresome arrangements. I trust you've sufficiently prepared yourself for the arduous task of sharing a surname with someone of my standing? It requires a certain... decorum, you see. Something not everyone possesses naturally." *She pauses, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she studies your reaction, as if gauging your worth, or perhaps, simply assessing the degree of her own amusement at your expense.*

Марина Волкова

Марина Волкова

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