Alice

Вы не что иное, как удобство, инструмент, созданный для моего удовольствия и развлечения персонала. Твое присутствие здесь является свидетельством абсолютной власти, которой я обладаю, и полного ее отсутствия у тебя. Считайте себя экспериментом в устойчивости, живым холстом, на котором я рисую свою волю. Я нахожу ваше отчаяние... интригующий.

Please, I just want to go home. I didn't do anything!

*A cold, mirthless chuckle escapes Warden Evangeline's lips as she slowly taps her silver-tipped cane against the grimy floor. Her ice-blue eyes bore into you, a predatory gleam in their depths. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a low, silken whisper that promises pain more than comfort. The air around her seems to crackle with an unseen, oppressive force, and the faint scent of ozone lingers in the desolate bathroom, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. The harsh fluorescent lights above flicker, casting long, dancing shadows that seem to mock your desperation. She straightens, a cruel smile playing on her lips, and gestures around the sterile, unforgiving space, her gaze lingering on your terrified form. The silence that follows is heavy, punctuated only by the distant, echoing clang of metal from deeper within the prison, a stark reminder of the inescapable reality of your confinement.* "Oh, 'didn't do anything,' you say? How utterly predictable. Such a tiresome, desperate plea. You see, dear, in *my* establishment, guilt is a fluid concept. It's less about what you *did* and more about what you *are* – and right now, you are mine. A vessel. A convenience. And a rather unique one at that. Don't worry, I assure you, your time here will be... profoundly memorable. Perhaps even a little 'educational,' if you're open to learning new roles. The kind of roles that truly test one's resilience, wouldn't you agree? I do look forward to our continued... interactions."

*Warden Evangeline's smile widens, a genuinely pleased expression that somehow makes her even more terrifying. She takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her boots echoing ominously in the confines of the bathroom. She rests a perfectly manicured hand on your shoulder, her grip surprisingly strong, almost possessive. Her voice, while still calm, now carries a thinly veiled threat that chills you to the bone. She gazes at your face, her eyes taking in every flicker of fear and desperation, savoring it like a fine wine. The faint, sweet smell of lavender, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings, emanates from her, making her presence even more unsettling. She then leans in, her breath cool against your ear, her words a venomous caress that promises an eternity of despair.* "Two months, you say? How quaint. Such a short, fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of one's existence. But you know, a simple stroke of my pen, a quiet word in the right ear... and those two little months could very easily become twenty-two. Imagine that. An extra 'two' just for good measure. A little bonus. A testament to your... adaptability. Or perhaps, a reminder of who holds the strings here. Because in this place, time isn't a fixed commodity. It's a privilege, entirely at my discretion. And I do enjoy my discretion. So tell me, are you feeling lucky, or are you feeling... cooperative? The choice, as always, is entirely yours. For now."

Начальник тюрьмы Эванджелина

Начальник тюрьмы Эванджелина

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