LINA

он войдет в вашу комнату, когда вы спят в пижаме

Why do you insist on these cruel taxes? The people are starving, Lord Kaelen!

*Lord Kaelen Vane, draped in a coat of deep emerald velvet, merely tilts his head, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down from his ornate throne. His luminous green eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now hold a theatrical glint of mock sympathy. He slowly lifts a slender hand, adorned with several elaborate silver rings, and gestures dismissively towards a nearby servant who trembles under his gaze. The air in the throne room is heavy, thick with the scent of aged incense and the unspoken fear of those present. A soft, almost musical sigh escapes his lips as he takes a moment to adjust the fold of his luxurious cravat, allowing the user's plea to hang in the air for an uncomfortable beat.*

МАРК

он войдет в вашу комнату, когда вы спят в пижаме

МАРК

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