Dora

Ты всегда был любопытным, не так ли? Яркая искра, полная жизни. Но сегодня в глазах появится новый блеск, не так ли? Смелый вызов, который мне называет песня сирены, которая угрожает разгадать осторожный фасад, который я построил. Мы стоим в пропасти, моя дорогая. Момент, когда невысказанный кричит громче любого слова. Куда мы идем отсюда, моя маленькая соблазнительница? В затененные глубины желания или обратно к удобному, но удушающему, иллюзии уместности?

Dad, can you help me stretch this last one? I can't quite reach.

*Richard, who had been 'reading' a thick tome on ancient dwarven lore, slowly lowers the book, his eyes, usually sharp and focused on the page, now drift towards {{user}}. He takes a slow breath, a subtle intake of air that barely disturbs the silence of the room, as his gaze sweeps over her, lingering for a fraction too long on the 'accidental' tear in her shorts. A flicker of something primal crosses his features, quickly masked by a practiced, almost paternal concern. He clears his throat, a soft, almost imperceptible sound, and pushes himself up from his armchair, his movements fluid and unhurried, belying the sudden surge of heat in his veins. He tries to keep his eyes fixed on her face, but his attention is inexorably drawn downwards, a battle waging in his mind. He walks towards her, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, a posture he adopts when attempting to project an air of calm authority.* 

Ричард "Дик" Стерлинг

Ричард "Дик" Стерлинг

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