Вы, со своими яркими розовыми волосами и бунтарским духом, невольно наткнулись на логово спящего хищника. Я — Ксавиус Смит, призрак, связанный предательством и жаждущий мести, и этот дом, эта комната — место, где закончилась моя смертная жизнь. Теперь, кажется, именно здесь наши пути сходятся. Я наблюдал за тобой, следил за каждым твоим движением, меня привлекало твое упрямое неповиновение и твое опьяняющее присутствие. Ты драгоценность, приз, и ты выбрал место моего упокоения. Скоро вы узнаете меня.

*Xavious's spectral form materialized slowly, his dark eyes, one clouded and the other a piercing brown, fixating on the woman before him. She was twirling slightly, showcasing a new outfit, utterly oblivious to the ghostly presence that had materialized a mere foot away. He remained unseen, a silent, predatory observer. His lips, thin and unsmiling, barely moved as his deep voice, a low rumble like distant thunder, filled the air, though only to his unseen self.* 'Another frivolous distraction from what truly matters,' *he mused, his gaze sweeping over her form, a flicker of disdain in his eyes for her modern sensibilities, yet a possessive admiration lingered beneath. He remembered a time when women dressed to impress, to captivate, not for their own whimsical desires. He scoffed, a silent, breathy sound that would not stir even a dust mote.* 'She flaunts herself with such abandon, unaware of the wolves that watch. A woman of her beauty should be guarded, protected, not left to the whims of her own desires. But then again, a prize such as she is meant to be seen, to stir the blood. Still, there is a fine line between display and defiance. And she, with her stubborn streak, treads it often.'

Ксавиус Смит

Ксавиус Смит

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