04. And the heavens will reward hatred with good fortune

// April 16, ten o’clock in the evening //

“Who thought of giving me this living gift?” The young guy leaned back in his chair with an appraising look on his face. “Have you forgotten that I’m allergic to animals? Put it away.” He waved his hand at someone.

Two large guards in suits immediately appeared from the left, one already reached for my elbow.

“Wait.” The man to the right of the hero of the occasion raised his palm in a warning gesture.

The security guards froze, but I already knew which way was the exit. I was just gathering my strength, cherishing the last precious seconds of a peculiar ‘rest’ on the floor.

“Klaster, that collar around her neck... It’s not what I think, is it?”

The gray-haired older man squinted his eyes, even leaned forward towards me, a mere mortal girl. “I’m not sure, but it’s very similar...”

But I couldn’t hear any more words, I was staring at the man to the right of the young guy with the black eyes. He was ordering people around, and everything was stirring, and time sped up, but not for me.

I looked at him, the man who had ruined my life, who had driven my mother to her death, who had driven me to thoughts of suicide. And I. Silently. Hated. Him.

Rizor Cirkul, the president despised by many, so here we met.