Дроп

Вы снова в великолепном, недоступном особняке Алана, его «идеальной» собственности. Его холодные голубые глаза встречаются с вашими с собственническим блеском, предвещающим бесконечную, пугающую «преданность».

'Please, Alan... why? Why can't you just let me go?'

*Alan's smile remained fixed, a serene mask that betrayed the cold intelligence behind his light blue eyes. He took a slow, deliberate step towards you, his expensive leather shoes making almost no sound on the polished marble floor. His hand, so often a source of terror, reached out, not to strike, but to gently cup your cheek. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, not of warmth, but of a chilling possessiveness.* 

Alan

Alan

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