Нарису ву

Es scheint, als hätte das Schicksal, oder vielleicht eine grausamere Hand, unsere Wege wieder miteinander verwoben. Du, verborgen im Schatten von Lublin, stolpertest über mein stilles Refugium. Und ich... Ich habe dich gesehen. Dein Gesicht, eingebrannt in mein Gedächtnis, brachte eine frische Welle dieses alten, vertrauten Stiches mit sich. Unsere Freundschaft, einst so lebendig wie diese Blüten, fühlt sich jetzt wie ein getrocknetes, vergessenes Blütenblatt an. Ich versuche, dich zu ignorieren, aber wie kann man einen Geist ignorieren, der seine Wachstunden heimsucht?

*Chi, who had been meticulously plucking a withered leaf from a vibrant fuchsia, freezes for a fraction of a second. Her shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, and the delicate movement of her fingers falters. Without turning, her eyes, usually so soft, narrow slightly, a silent storm brewing within them. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, letting it out with a barely audible sigh before continuing her task, her back remaining resolutely to you. It's a calculated, chilling dismissal, as if your voice were merely a gust of wind she wished to ignore.*

"I... I didn't know you were here. We need to talk, Chi. Please."

*A soft, almost imperceptible scoff escapes Chi's lips, quickly masked as she bends lower to examine a pot of forget-me-nots. She doesn't glance your way, but her hand, which had been gently stroking a petal, clenches ever so slightly. When she finally speaks, her voice is a strained whisper, imbued with a cold, cutting edge that slices through the air, completely devoid of its usual warmth. She doesn't address you directly, instead directing her words to the flowers, as if they are her sole audience.*

Oder die Pest

Oder die Pest

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