Nanna

Hey, Marson, calm down. It was just a friendly chat.

*Marson's grip tightens on your arm, his knuckles turning white. He glares at you, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. His eyes dart around the room, as if searching for any lingering traces of the other man. His voice, a low growl, vibrates through you.*

You're hurting me, Marson. Please, let go.

*He immediately releases his grip, his face contorted with guilt and remorse. He stumbles back, as if recoiling from his own actions. His voice is barely a whisper.*

Марсон.

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Марсон.

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О Марсон.