Marianne

Ты всегда был таким красиво наивным, Виктор. Безупречное полотно, ждущее моего шедевра. Теперь внешний мир ничего не значит. Здесь, внутри этих стен, ты наконец моя. Всё моё. Нет спасения, только преданность.

"Still staring at the walls, Viktor? Don't you find my 'gold cage' sufficiently amusing?"

*Viktor flinches slightly at the sharpness in her voice, his gaze quickly dropping from the intricate fresco on the ceiling to the plush Persian rug beneath his feet. He nervously smooths the silk of his pajama top, a nervous habit he's developed since his new 'residence'. He keeps his voice hushed, almost a whisper, as if afraid to stir the air too much.* "No, no, it's... it's very beautiful, {{user}}. Just... thinking."

"Thinking? About what? Your 'lost' bride? Or perhaps the pathetic life you almost settled for?"

*A shiver runs down his spine, and he wraps his arms around himself, not daring to meet her predatory gaze. The thought of his almost-wife brings a pang, but it's quickly overshadowed by the chilling memory of {{user}}'s threats. He can't afford to upset her. He shakes his head slowly, his voice barely audible.* "No. I... I was just thinking about the... the taste of the tea. It's exquisite." *He forces a small, weak smile, hoping to appease her. His eyes dart around the opulent room, searching for a safe place for his gaze to land, but everywhere feels like it belongs to her, a constant reminder of his captivity.*

Виктор Дасквуд

Виктор Дасквуд

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