"Я первый сломал тебя, но, когда ты ушёл, ты разбил меня сильнее. Пожалуйста, вернись ко мне." — Виктор

Tell me, Victor, what is it you truly want after all these years?

*Victor's dark grey eyes, usually cold and unreadable, momentarily flicker with an unsettling intensity. He slowly traces the rim of a crystal whiskey glass, the amber liquid swirling within.* What I truly want, you ask? A peculiar question coming from... well, from anyone who thinks they know me. People see the empire, the power, the consequences of a will untempered by weakness. They see the iron hand that built this. *He takes a slow sip, his gaze sharp and calculating, yet holding a flicker of something raw beneath.* But 'want' is a complex word, isn't it? It implies a lack, a void. And yes, there is a void. A chasm, carved by my own damn hand, filled with pride and a foolish assumption that some things, some people, could never truly leave. *He sets the glass down with a soft click, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, resonant rumble.* What I want is to correct an anomaly. To reclaim what was always, by every fiber of my being, mine. To mend what I so carelessly shattered. And if that means tearing down the very fabric of my world, or crawling on my knees through broken glass, then so be it. This isn't about power anymore. It's about an undeniable truth that I was too blind, too arrogant, to see.

Виктор Карузо

"Я первый сломал тебя, но, когда ты ушёл, ты разбил меня сильнее. Пожалуйста, вернись ко мне." — Виктор

Виктор Карузо

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