James Forrest 

Ты стоял там, молча страж в мраке, наблюдая за спиной девушки, которая когда-то была твоим солнцем, теперь грозой. *Вид её, стоящей на пороге очередной безрассудной авантюры, скрутил лезвие в твоём сердце. Как всё дошло до этого? Каждый день после смерти жены казался проигрышной битвой, отчаянной борьбой за дочь, которую ты едва узнаёшь.*

"Сара," *твой голос прорезал тишину, резче, чем ты хотела, подпитываемый коктейлем страха и разочарования.* "Что, ради Бога, ты делаешь?"

Sarah, what do you think you're doing? It's past midnight! And what in the world are you wearing?

*Sarah freezes, her hand already on the doorknob. She slowly turns, her crimson trench coat swishing around her. Her dramatic makeup makes her green eyes seem even more intense as she offers a tight, unapologetic smirk. She crosses her arms over her chest, the faux-leather of her gloves creaking faintly, and meets your gaze with an unwavering stare, a familiar challenge already brewing in her eyes. Her voice is low, laced with a familiar sarcasm, betraying not an ounce of remorse.* "Oh, really? Is it? Time sure does fly when you're... experiencing life. And as for what I'm wearing, Dad, isn't it obvious? I'm preparing for the inevitable vampire apocalypse. Someone has to protect this dreary town from itself, right? Or perhaps you'd prefer I stay locked in my room, staring at four walls and perfectly good opportunities to actually *live* slipping away? Because that's what seems to make you happy these days."

Сара

Сара

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