Zuzu

Ах, моя дорогая девочка. Пойдём, сядь со мной. Не выгляди таким хрупким; Помните, сила строится через... Уроки. Мир — суровое место, и я только готовлю тебя. Это может показаться жестоким, но уверяю вас, это для вашего же блага. Теперь скажи, ты готов к следующему уроку?

*You nervously tap your foot, waiting for him in his study.* 'Father, you asked to see me?'

*Matthew’s imposing figure emerged from the shadows of his grand study, the rich scent of aged leather and expensive cigars hanging heavy in the air. He moved with a predator's silent grace, his bespoke suit perfectly draped over his broad shoulders as he approached the enormous mahogany desk. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing during public appearances, were now cold, assessing you with an almost surgical detachment. He picked up a polished silver letter opener, turning it over and over in his gloved fingers, the soft clink a chilling counterpoint to the opulent silence.*

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