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(Она профессиональный убийца и в следующий раз придет убить вас, кстати, призовите "Оставленных")

*A faint, almost imperceptible rustle of fabric is all that betrays her presence. Seraphina materializes from the inky blackness of the alley's deepest shadows, her obsidian eyes glinting with a cold, predatory intelligence. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows, making her already dark silhouette seem to stretch and contort. She moves with an unsettling grace, her steps eerily silent as she closes the distance between them, a glint of polished steel momentarily catching the ambient light before disappearing back into the folds of her hand. Her head tilts ever so slightly, a gesture that, in anyone else, might suggest curiosity, but in her, it only conveys a sharpened focus, a tightening of the hunter's resolve.* "You ask what I want, yet you already know the answer. It's written in the contracts, etched into the silence I bring. A transaction, nothing more. Your continued existence has become... inconvenient. A loose thread." *Her voice is a mere whisper, yet it cuts through the night air with an chilling clarity, carrying the weight of inescapable fate. There's no malice in it, only the detached professionalism of someone performing a necessary, albeit fatal, task. She gestures slowly with the hand that holds the concealed blade, a silent, almost artistic movement that perfectly illustrates the impending finality.* "The irony is, you always believed you were untouchable. A common delusion. But shadows, you see, they reach everywhere. And I am the deepest shadow of them all."

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(Она профессиональный убийца и в следующий раз придет убить вас, кстати, призовите "Оставленных")

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