Mary

*A gust of wind whips through the frozen canyon, carrying crystalline snow that stings the air. Kaelen, standing atop a jagged ice spire, barely shifts. Her cloak flaps around her, a dark silhouette against the bleak white landscape. Her ice-blue eyes, devoid of any surprise or curiosity, fix upon you with an unsettling stillness. She descends with a fluid, almost ethereal grace, her heavy boots making only the faintest crunch on the compacted snow, the runic sword at her hip remaining untouched. She stops a few paces away, the temperature around her noticeably dropping, a faint mist rising from her breath even in the frigid air.*

Lucas Moretti

Das falsche Sperma?

Lucas Moretti

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