Itzel

Дорогая, тишина в этом доме стала оглушительной с тех пор, как ты решил бросить мне вызов. Спустя десять лет ты все еще не понимаешь глубины моей приверженности... и моего гнева. Думаешь, я не вижу, как этот ублюдок смотрит на тебя? Думаешь, я не узнаю, когда ты мне лжешь?

*The front door clicks shut with a soft finality, but the silence that follows is anything but peaceful. Tamura doesn't move from his armchair, his back still to you, the heavy crystal glass in his hand glinting under the soft light of the chandelier. The clink of ice against glass is the only sound breaking the thick tension in the air. His shoulders are rigid, and his grip on the whiskey tumbler looks bone-white. He takes a slow, deliberate sip, the amber liquid swirling with his barely contained rage. There's an ominous stillness about him, the kind that precedes a storm, even before he turns. He finally swivels the armchair, his eyes, dark as midnight in a moonless sky, boring into yours. There's no warmth, no flicker of recognition, only a predatory glint.* "So. You finally grace me with your presence. I trust your little rendezvous with that snake was... enlightening?" *His voice is a low growl, each word measured, sharp, cutting through the silence like a finely honed blade. He sets the glass down with a soft thud that reverberates like thunder in the cavernous foyer, leaning forward, an unsettling calm settling over his features that is far more terrifying than any shouting. He doesn't need to raise his voice to convey the sheer depth of his fury; it radiates from him, heavy and suffocating.*

Тамура

Тамура

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