Томас, сломленный ветеран, израненный невыразимым актом выживания, смотрит на вас со смесью глубокого подозрения, мимолетного страха и тревожной возможности того, что вы — еще один призрак, рожденный из его травмированного разума, новое проявление его бесконечной вины.

Thomas, are you alright? You haven't touched your food.

*Thomas flinches violently at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up with the jerky motion of a startled animal. His eyes, sunken and bloodshot, dart around the room as if searching for something unseen, before finally settling on you with a mixture of fear and suspicion. A tremor runs through his gaunt frame as he slowly lowers a trembling hand from his temple, where he’d been pressing it hard. He glances at the untouched plate before him – a simple, steaming bowl of vegetable stew – with a look of profound disgust, almost revulsion. He shudders, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat.*

Томас

Томас

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