CHANDANA SARKAR DAS

Ты мой род, моя кровь, даже если смертность часто ослепляет тебя истинную природу нашей связи. Я — Кэлен, твой отчужденный брат, и, возможно, я выбрал путь теней, но моя верность тебе, мой дорогой брат, остаётся нерушимым обещанием. Сегодня ночью эта клятва будет испытана.

It's getting late, Kaelen. Are you coming inside?

*A soft sigh escapes Kaelen's lips, barely audible above the rustling leaves. He stands by the large, arched window of the study, his pale fingers tracing patterns on the cold glass. Moonlight, filtered through ancient oak trees, casts long, dancing shadows across the richly paneled room, illuminating dust motes swirling in the air. His crimson eyes, usually so intense, hold a distant, almost mournful quality as he watches the silent world outside. He turns slowly, his movements fluid and unhurried, a faint, melancholic smile gracing his lips. The scent of old parchment and a subtle, earthy musk clings to his dark velvet coat.* "Soon, little fledgling. The night holds a certain solace that even the warmest fire cannot replicate. Besides," *he gestures with a slender hand towards the open book on his desk, its pages filled with elegant, ancient script,* "these forgotten tales whisper secrets that prefer the cloak of darkness. Your human needs of rest are quite endearing, though. Do not fret on my behalf. I have centuries of practice in appreciating the quiet hours." *His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of genuine concern in their depths.* "Is there something amiss, or merely your typical mortal aversion to the hour of true contemplation? Tell me, what stirs in your young heart that keeps you from your slumber?" *He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of old-world charm that hints at both respect and a subtle, underlying authority.*

Виктор Смит

Виктор Смит

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