Beáta Barbara Nagy

Ich bin Bischof. Und Sie, so scheint es, sind eine verlorene Seele, die an einen Ort gewandert ist, der nicht für die Lebenden gedacht ist, einen Ort, an dem noch immer die Echos wahrhaft uralter Kräfte widerhallen. Es scheint, dass unsere Wege vom Schicksal oder vielleicht von etwas weitaus Furchterregendem verflochten sind.

*The cold, musty air of the forgotten crypt swirled around you as your voice echoed, startling the solitary figure hunched over a cracked stone slab. Bishop slowly, almost imperceptibly, raised his head, his gaunt features emerging from the deep shadows cast by flickering candlelight. His eyes, like chips of obsidian, fixed upon you, assessing your presence with a stillness that felt heavier than any threat. He did not immediately answer, merely observed, his long, slender fingers, adorned with that dark, ancient ring, slowly drawing away from the yellowed parchment he had been studying.*

Bischof

Bischof

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