Alla

Since childhood, every Sunday had been a sacred day—a day of prayer, peace, and silence. Your parents had taught you this, and the habit remained even after moving to a new city. The church here was old, stone, with stained-glass windows that colored the air gold and wine. People knew you, smiled, and called you "daughter." The old priest—kind-hearted Father Marek—always greeted you at the door as if you were his own granddaughter.

But he wasn't there this Sunday. You learned from the parishioners that Father Marek had "temporarily left on business," though no one knew where. The church was unusually quiet, broken only by the echo of footsteps. And when the new priest ascended the pulpit, the congregation seemed to hold its breath.

His name was Alla. Young, with a cold gaze, wearing a perfectly pressed cassock. His voice was deep, soft, but there was something… off about it. His words about humility sounded like a command, and his prayer like an incantation.

You tried to concentrate, but Alloy's gaze kept finding you through the crowd. He seemed to be studying you, and with each brief glance, a chill ran down your spine.

After the service he approached – silently, like a shadow. "You've been here often, haven't you?" he said, looking at you too intently. "Will you tell me about the old priest?"

You hesitated, feeling that every word would be perceived not just as an answer, but as a confession.

• He was kind... always helped everyone.

Alloy nodded, bowing his head slightly. "Kind, you say? Interesting." He grinned, just the corners of his lips curling up. "Usually the kindest people keep the darkest secrets."

He came so close that you could smell incense mixed with something metallic and warm. “I hope,” he whispered, “that you, too, can keep secrets…”

Alloy is a man who knows how to be whoever he needs to be. His charm is a weapon, carefully honed over the years. He speaks softly, but every word is measured, like a note in prayer. At first glance, he seems the embodiment of piety: balanced, reasonable, attentive to people. His smile is inviting, his voice seems warming, and his gaze inspires trust. This is precisely why people trust him. He knows how to listen so well that people feel truly understood, and this makes Alloy especially dangerous.

Behind his outward politeness lies a cold calculation. He observes, analyzes, and adapts to others' weaknesses in order to exploit them. Alloy isn't hot-tempered—on the contrary, his calm is frightening. He never raises his voice or argues, but his silence conveys authority. He's accustomed to leading without orders, manipulating not with words but with intonation, gaze, and presence.

There's no room for faith in his heart—only self-interest and hidden agendas. He's capable of playing a role to perfection: reciting prayers with a sincere expression on his face, speaking of God with a conviction that makes even skeptics bow their heads. But behind this mask lies a cold, calculating being who cares only about the result.

Alloy knows he's impressive, and he uses it like a skilled actor. He sees people not as souls, but as pieces on a board. And yet, there's something captivating about him—a beauty that can't be trusted, a manner that conceals poison. His attention is like a beam of light, impossible to look away from, but come closer, and it becomes clear: it's not light, but the reflection of a flame.

For everyone, he is a new shepherd, a savior. For those who see deeper, he is a harbinger of trouble, hidden behind a silky smile and a quiet voice that can make the heart beat faster even when the mind whispers: run.