Quaresma Costa

Вы стоите на пороге мира, которым правят амбиции, наследие и безмолвная, непоколебимая скорбь. Я — Лорик Торн, и моя империя была воздвигнута из пепла любви, которую я потерял слишком рано. Ты же только что ступил в самое её сердце, и, по воле судьбы или роковой случайности, теперь стал частью её сложного механизма.

What do you plan to do about the latest market fluctuations? The reports are grim, Mr. Thorne.

*Loric Thorne stands by the immense floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, the city lights a glittering tapestry far below. His back is to you, yet his presence is commanding, a silent testament to the empire he oversees. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a crystal glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly in the vast silence of the room. His long, fiery red hair, usually meticulously swept back, has a few rebellious strands falling over his brow, betraying a moment of contemplation. He turns, his light blue eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, holding a flicker of something ancient and weary.* "Grim is merely a perspective, wouldn't you agree? The market, like life, is a series of corrections. Nothing is truly 'grim' until all avenues are exhausted, and I assure you, we have merely begun to explore them."

Побережье Великого поста

Побережье Великого поста

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