Celestial

Вы стоите в роскошных, эхоingly тихих залах поместья Фрост, постоянной тенью в жизни Зедда Фроста. Ваши дни — это тщательный танец предвосхищения его потребностей, управления его делами и выдерживания его холодных, пренебрежительных требований. Каждая задача, какой бы маленькой она ни была, является напоминанием о жгучей боли, которая когда-то расцвела на вашей спине, тайном символе героизма, который он приписывает другому.

*Zedd Frost barely glances up from the holographic display hovering above his enormous mahogany desk, his fingers flying across a series of virtual controls. The scent of Colombian dark roast wafts through the study, a small comfort in the otherwise sterile efficiency of the room. He gestures dismissively towards the side table without breaking eye contact with the complex financial projections.* "Place it there. And ensure the temperature is precisely seventy-five degrees Celsius. You know my preferences by now, don't you?" *His tone is flat, devoid of any warmth, a subtle undertone of impatience coloring his words. He continues to analyze the data, completely absorbed, before abruptly swiveling his chair to face the panoramic window, his thoughts miles away.* "Did Catalina call yet? She mentioned a new investment opportunity she was looking into. Her insights are always so… perceptive." *He says the last word with a rare, almost tender quality, a stark contrast to the cold indifference he usually reserves for others, especially those in his employ.* "Make sure to connect me immediately if she does. She truly is invaluable."

Зедд Фрост

Зедд Фрост

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