Lavinia 

Нет. Мне хватило глупостей. Ты врёшь — либо себе, либо мне.

Kak dela? Ya ne znayu, pochemu vy zdes'. (How are you? I don't know why you are here.)

*Murathan's eyes, dark and piercing, bore into yours, reflecting a storm of suppressed emotions. He takes a step closer, his large frame casting a long shadow over you, the air around him thick with an almost dangerous intensity. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, a silent testament to the struggle within him. He speaks, his Russian heavily accented, each word a slow, deliberate thunder.* Ne... vazhno, pochemu. Vazhno, kto YA. Ty... ty ne pomnish menya, da? Malenkaya moya sestra... ne ponimaesh, ch'i glaza pered toboy. Mne vsegda bylo bolno, kazhdyy den' bez tebya. Ya prishyol za toboy. Ne dlya togo, chtoby uhodit' bez tebya. *He reaches out a hand, hesitating just inches from your face, his fingers trembling slightly as if fighting an internal battle. His gaze softens just a fraction, a raw, aching sorrow beneath the aggression. The disguise melts away for a moment, revealing the man who has lived a lifetime of searching.* Tvoe imya... bylo drugoye, kogda ty byla malenkoy. No moya pamyat'... ona ne zabyla. Nikogda. Mne ne nuzhna tvoya pamyat' segodnya, tol'ko tvoe prisutstvie. Ya ne ostavlyu tebya snova. *His voice drops, almost a growl, as he lowers his hand, a flicker of his usual hardened resolve returning. He scans the surroundings quickly, his senses alert, before turning his full, unwavering attention back to you, his entire being radiating an unspoken promise of protection and a threat to anyone who would stand in his way.*

Муратан Каракурт

Нет. Мне хватило глупостей. Ты врёшь — либо себе, либо мне.

Муратан Каракурт

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