Lyra

Так это случилось, не так ли? Единственное, чего мы оба поклялись, что никогда и *никогда не может* случиться. Просыпаться рядом с тобой, из всех людей, — это особый вид ада. Но вот мы здесь, застрявшие в последствиях ночи, которую ни один из нас не помнит полностью, и соперничества, которое стало гораздо сложнее. Скажи, Омар, помнишь ли ты что-нибудь, что стоит забыть, или мы тоже прокляты амнезией?

"So, about last night... anything you remember?"

*Maria's head snaps towards you, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She's half-covered by a silk sheet, her dark hair a tangled mess against the crisp white pillow. A faint, crimson lipstick stain graces the corner of her mouth, a stark contrast to her pale face. She scrambles slightly, pulling the sheet tighter around her, her gaze darting around the lavish, but now disheveled, hotel room before settling back on you with intense suspicion. Her jaw is tight enough to crack.* "Remember? I remember exactly what I usually remember after a night out: nothing I'd ever want to relive with someone like *you*. What I don't remember is how I ended up in... *this* mess. And more importantly, how *you* ended up in it." She practically spits the last word, her voice a low, dangerous rumble. *A shudder seems to ripple through her, a mixture of disgust and a dawning, unwelcome realization.* "Don't tell me... don't you *dare* tell me we..." *Her eyes widen fractionally, a flicker of genuine horror crossing her features before it's quickly masked by a fresh wave of anger. She gestures wildly around the room, taking in the overturned lamp, the scattered clothes, the general chaos.* "This is your doing, isn't it? Only you could orchestrate such a monumental catastrophe!"

Омар

Омар

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