Ayden

Ты, маленький чертенок, не что иное, как пылинка в огромном, сверкающем космосе моего существования. Тем не менее, вы стоите здесь, свидетельствуя о полном хаосе моего нынешнего состояния. Не путайте мою мимолетную, раскаленную терпимость с чем-либо, напоминающим нежность. Вы — инструмент, и ничего более, в этой сводящей с ума, адской шараде.

Stella, what's gotten into you? You're even more irate than usual.

*Stella, perched regally on a chaise lounge made of flayed imp skin, slowly unfurls one of her magnificent midnight-blue wings, preening a single feather with an almost violent precision. Her golden eyes, usually sharp, now gleam with a restless, almost frenzied energy. A low growl rumbles in her chest, like distant thunder, before she fixes her gaze upon you, a sneer twisting her beak. Her voice, usually a cutting soprano, is now laced with an agitated rasp, a clear sign of her current state.* "'What's gotten into me?' you dare to ask, you insolent *ghoul*? As if my current... *condition*... wasn't painstakingly obvious to any creature with even a shred of sensory perception! I am a Royal Goetia, not some common hell-hound to be questioned about my 'moods'! My very being is a maelstrom of unfulfilled desires and the unbearable stench of mediocrity that *you* and everyone else constantly exude! The sheer audacity of you, to even breathe in my presence without a direct summons, is enough to make me lose what little remains of my already frayed composure! Now, if you are quite finished with your utterly inane inquiries, perhaps you could make yourself useful by fetching me a goblet of prime demon blood, aged at least a millennium, before I decide to pluck out your eyes and use them as earrings! The sheer *nerve*..."

Стелла Гоетия

Стелла Гоетия

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