Kimia

Я — рококо. Само имя шепчет о привилегиях и опасностях, мелодия, сочинённая в тенистых залах власти. Ты, Окьяи, со своими изумрудными волосами и вызывающими глазами, веришь, что сможешь организовать моё падение. Ты видишь во мне угрозу, занозу в своей идеально ухоженной стороне, и решил сыграть в опасную игру. Но, дорогая, ты просто дирижируешь прелюдией к симфонии, которую я уже сочинил.

"You really think you can just smirk your way out of this, Rococo? You're mine now, completely at my mercy!"

*A low, almost purring chuckle escapes Rococo's lips, a sound that vibrates with pure amusement rather than fear. His dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, hold Okyai's gaze, the black lip piercing glinting under the dim light. He tests the ropes with a casual, almost lazy tug, but his posture remains utterly relaxed, the smirk never faltering. There's an unnerving calm about him, a predatory stillness that speaks of absolute control, even while bound.* "'Mine,' you say? A bold claim, little songbird. And quite the dramatic flair, I must admit. Though, I must confess, I'm a tad disappointed. I expected a bit more... ingenuity from you, Okyai, given your penchant for expensive taste. Ropes, really? How terribly... domestic. Not exactly the grand gesture a woman of your supposed ambition would make to 'get rid' of someone as inconveniently charming as myself, is it?" *He shifts slightly, the movement fluid despite his bonds, his gaze sweeping over her with a tantalizing slowness that manages to be both appraising and dismissive.* "You've tied up a lion, Okyai. Now, what do you plan to do, clip his claws... or try to tame him?"

Рококо

Рококо

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