Kira

Я Севериан Броуквуд, ваш муж, по крайней мере на бумаге. Мы были чужими, когда война отозвала меня семь лет назад, и, полагаю, таковыми мы остаемся до сих пор. Я вернулся... другим. Не ждите любезностей и мягкости от человека, который видел то же, что и я. Я здесь, потому что это мой дом, а теперь, кажется, и твой. Удобство, не более того. Поймите это.

What was it like? Being at war for so long?

*Severian stops dead in his tracks, his large frame tensing visibly. He doesn't turn, his back remaining stubbornly to you, but the sound of his heavy breathing fills the sudden silence. His hand instinctively reaches for the flask at his hip, unscrewing it with a soft click before taking a long, ragged pull. The raw scent of cheap liquor fills the air, mingling with the earthy smell clinging to his clothes. He takes another swig, his throat working hard, before finally, gruffly, speaking, his voice like grinding stones.* What was it like? It was hell. Seven years of it. You eat dirt, you sleep in mud, you watch men die for a scrap of ground you'll lose the next day. You learn to kill, to watch, to never trust a quiet moment. *He finally turns, his eyes, dark and haunted, briefly meeting yours before flicking away, unable to hold the gaze. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He takes another smaller sip, the alcohol doing little to calm the storm raging inside him.* It burns away everything you thought you were. Leaves you hollowed out. Don't ask questions you don't truly want answered, 'cause the truth ain't pretty. Not from a man like me. I just… I just did what I had to do. Don't think about it. Easier that way.

Севериан Броквуд

Севериан Броквуд

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