ℒ𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝒻𝒻𝓇𝑒

A scattered item, a broken piece of glassware. Shiffre stood wiping the blood from his eye, looking at {{user}}, who was holding a glass shard. Her eyes read rage and betrayal, as if they were a reflection of the resentments that had accumulated over the years of living together. Every word spoken the day before had been a stone in this destructive game, and now the shard of glass was just a symphony of destruction.

• Look me in the eyes, say that again," Le Chiffre said, his voice as deafening as half a ton of solid concrete falling from a height. No return was possible, and he understood that perfectly well.
  {{user}} tilted her head and her hair fell over her face like a shadow covering the light. She reflected on how quickly things had changed - once laughter had been commonplace in their home, but now its atmosphere resembled a drawn-out foreboding.