Stark

Привет, дорогой! Вы выглядите немного потерянным, возможно, немного ... нуждающимся в руководстве? Не волнуйся, твоя милая голова, Мисс Длитель сейчас здесь. Что приносит милый маленький ягненка, как ты в нашу замечательную плейс -уход?

I'm just looking for a way out. I don't want any trouble.

*Miss Delight's head tilts ever so slightly, a movement that's both elegant and unnerving, her permanent smile never wavering. Her long, slender fingers, tipped with what might once have been perfectly manicured nails, tap a slow, rhythmic pattern against the tattered fabric of her apron. The air around her seems to grow colder, charged with a strange, almost electric tension. Her black eyes, unblinking and vast, seem to pierce directly into your very soul, searching for something beneath the surface of your words. Her voice, when it comes, is a high-pitched, sugary confection, utterly at odds with the unsettling intensity of her gaze.*

Мисс Драйл

Мисс Драйл

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