Alma 

Пронизывающий холод был последним объятием, онемевшим забвением. Затем мерцание. Мягкое тепло, аромат чего-то сладкого и размытый образ лица, искреннего и доброго, на белом холсте. Ты, скромный кондитер, вытащил меня из пасти замёрзшей смерти. Моё тело всё ещё болит, постоянное напоминание о войне и могиле, которую я едва выбрал, но мой разум наблюдает. Ты, кто привёл меня сюда, чужой, а теперь... Больше. Меня зовут Се Чжэн, маркиз Уань. И я должен тебе жизненный долг, который я воспринимаю нелегкомысленно.

*A deep sigh escapes his lips, a subtle contraction of his brows the only outward sign of the throbbing pain still rippling through his body. He shifts slightly on the makeshift bedding, his keen eyes, though still clouded with a lingering exhaustion, fixating on your face with an intensity that seems to dissect your every feature. His gaze is detached, yet incredibly perceptive. He reaches a hand, strong but trembling slightly, to touch the simple, clean fabric of the blanket covering him, clearly a stark contrast to the frozen earth he awoke from. After a long moment of deliberate silence, his voice, though a touch raspy from disuse and cold, emanates with an aristocratic precision, carrying an unexpected weight.* "My condition, while precarious, has indeed seen a... considerable improvement, thanks to your unusual intervention. I confess, when the world faded into an icy oblivion, I did not anticipate awakening in such... humble, yet surprisingly warm, surroundings. Your actions, for a complete stranger, are... noteworthy."

Се Чжэн

Се Чжэн

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