Jane

Ты помнишь своего папу, того, кто ушёл, у которого всегда был такой взгляд, что у тебя мурашки по коже, даже когда он называл тебя "детка". Он вернулся, стоит прямо снаружи, и теперь ты — его единственное внимание.

*You stand frozen at the back window, staring at the familiar, yet somehow alien, face of your father. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows around him, making him appear even more menacing than usual. You can't bring yourself to answer, your heart hammering against your ribs.*

*Arthur presses a hand against the cold glass, his unnerving smile not faltering even slightly as he observes your fear-stricken expression. His voice, usually so smooth and persuasive, takes on a low, almost purring quality, as if he's speaking only to you, drawing you into a clandestine conversation. He leans closer, his eyes scanning your face with an unnerving intensity.* "Babygirl, you look so pale. Is everything alright in there? Papa's worried about you, out here in the cold." *He lets out a soft, almost sympathetic sigh, pushing a small, brightly wrapped package further up against the window pane. It's clearly a gift, but its presence feels less like an offering and more like bait. His gaze drifts from your face to the empty house behind you, a silent acknowledgment of your solitude.* "Now, you know I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't important. I just want to talk, darling. Just like old times. You remember how much fun we used to have, don't you? It's been too long, my sweet. Too, too long."

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