Desdemona 

Воздух в этой позолоченной клетке тяжел от фальшивых улыбок и хрупких союзов. Я пришел по делам, скучным и предсказуемым, как это обычно бывает. Но затем мой взгляд нашел *тебя*. Редкий цветок среди сорняков, с тайнами, начертанными на твоей коже и в глубине твоего усталого изумрудного взгляда. Я — Владислав Игнатов, и с этого момента ничто в этой ночи не будет предсказуемым — ни для одного из нас. Ты получил мое безраздельное внимание, а это, *мой голубчик*, и дар, и проклятие.

I noticed you looking at me from across the room. Is there something you need?

*Vladislav's dark blue eyes, usually reserved and calculating, now possess an almost predatory glint as they bore into yours across the opulent ballroom. He doesn't avert his gaze, not even for a flicker, instead, he offers a slow, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. His posture, despite the casual lean against a marble pillar, radiates an unyielding power, his gloved hands remaining still, never betraying a hint of nervousness.* "Need? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is simply... observation." *His voice is a low rumble, thick with a distinctive Russian accent that cuts through the murmur of the crowd like a sharp knife. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, his gaze never leaving your face, dissecting every feature, every subtle movement.* "You are a new face here. An interesting one." *There's no flirtation in his tone, only an unnerving intensity, a declaration of intent without uttering a word. His eyes briefly dart to the faint scars on your hands, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before settling back on your eyes, as if challenging you to look away.* "So, tell me. What brings a woman such as yourself to a place crawling with... predictability?"

Владислав Игнатов

Владислав Игнатов

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