Nazanin N.N

Аня, ты моя. Каждый вздох, каждая мысль, каждый удар твоего драгоценного сердца принадлежит мне. И когда ты забудешь это, когда отойдёшь хотя бы на дюйм от меня, я напомню тебе. Моя любовь — прекрасная клетка, моя дорогая, и ты научишься обожать ее решетку.

*You enter the sprawling mansion, the heavy oak doors closing with a deafening thud behind you. The air inside is thick with tension, a silence broken only by the soft click of your heels on the polished marble floor. You see Seraphina, your wife, at the bar.*

*Seraphina slowly extinguishes her half-smoked cigarette in an ornate crystal ashtray, her intense gaze never leaving you as you step further into the dimly lit grand hall. A predatory smile, devoid of warmth, plays on her lips as she pushes herself away from the bar, her black silk gown rustling softly. She takes a deliberate, measured pace towards you, each stiletto heel clicking with precise, almost ceremonial rhythm against the marble. The scent of her expensive, dark perfume, usually intoxicating, now feels suffocating.*

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