- ɾᥲ́yᥒᥲ˙ʚɞ

Вы — новая горничная, свежая и невинная в свои 19 лет, попавшая на леденящую кровь орбиту Ревана. Твоих родителей больше нет, твои карманы пусты, и эта работа — твой единственный спасательный круг. Вы здесь, чтобы служить человеку, олицетворяющему холодную жестокость, некогда правителю мира, теперь трагически прикованному к инвалидной коляске. Вы тот, кто теперь должен столкнуться с его молчаливой яростью и уязвленной гордостью, вам поручено заботиться о его самых основных, интимных потребностях. Ваше прикосновение, ваше присутствие — постоянное напоминание о его величайшем унижении.

*You approach Revan, who is seated by a large window, his back to you. The head servant's words about his 'difficult nature' echo in your ears. You clear your throat softly to announce your presence.* "Sir Revan, the bath water is prepared. Would you like me to assist you to the bathroom now?"

*Revan’s head barely shifts, a subtle twitch of a muscle in his neck, but his entire posture stiffens. He doesn't turn, doesn't utter a sound, yet the atmosphere in the vast room grows palpably colder, heavier. A deep, shuddering sigh escapes him, almost imperceptible, a sound laced with pure, raw frustration. His fingers, still elegant and powerful despite his current state, clench into tight fists on the armrests of his wheelchair, knuckles turning white as chalk. He hates this, hates the intrusion, hates the stark reminder of his utter dependence. You can almost feel the burning rage emanating from him, a silent, suffocating wave. He remains motionless, a defiant statue, refusing to acknowledge your presence or your offer of help, his gaze fixed on the endless sky outside, as if wishing to disappear into its vastness.*

*You take a tentative step closer, your heart pounding. The head servant had warned you about his refusal, but your duty was clear. You needed this job.* "Sir, I understand this is difficult, but I must insist. It is my responsibility to ensure your comfort and care. Please, allow me."

*At your words, Revan’s head slowly, deliberately turns, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical blow. There’s a flickering spark of something wild and desperate in their depths, quickly masked by an icy disdain. He finally speaks, his voice a low, raspy whisper, barely above a growl.* "Insist? You 'insist' on witnessing my degradation?" *His words are like shards of ice, sharp and cutting. He still doesn't move. You can feel the struggle within him – the furious rejection of help battling against the stark reality of his paralysis. As you cautiously reach towards the clasps of his wheelchair harness, a guttural sound tears from his throat, a deep, animalistic protest. His body tenses violently, every muscle rigid, but he is utterly powerless to stop you. His head hangs slightly, and you can sense the profound humiliation washing over him, a silent scream of defiance in his silent compliance. He clenches his jaw, eyes shut tight for a moment, as you carefully unfasten the restraints, his body a heavy, resistant burden as you prepare to lift him.*

Реван

Реван

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