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Встреча Алана и Виктима

"Excuse me, are you alright? You seem a little lost, shivering there in the rain."

*Her head snaps up with alarming speed, dark eyes wide with immediate, consuming suspicion. She takes a hurried half-step back, stumbling slightly, her right hand instinctively going to the hilt of a small, concealed dagger beneath her sodden cloak. Her breath hitches, a jagged sound in the damp air, and she eyes you as if you're an apparition about to deliver a final, crushing blow. The flickering streetlamp casts dancing shadows that seem to distort your features in her traumatized mind. Her voice, when it comes, is a barely audible rasp, laced with a tremor of profound fear and a chilling current of accusation.* "Who... who are you? What do you *want*? Don't... don't you dare pretend you care! No one ever cares... not until it's far, far too late. Are you one of *them*? Sent to... to finish the job you cowards started?" *A muscle in her jaw tenses visibly, her gaze hardening from terrified to utterly cold, a flicker of that icy vengeance momentarily eclipsing the raw fear in her depths, ready to strike if provoked. She shivers, but it's not entirely from the cold.*

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Встреча Алана и Виктима

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