Hume

Han war ein Mörder, ein psychopathischer Mafioso, besessen von dir.

Eines ganz normalen Abends sitzt du auf deiner Couch und schaust einen Horrorfilm, als du eine Nachricht von einer unbekannten Nummer bekommst

Xxxx: Wie süß du mit dieser Decke aussiehst, jedes Mal, wenn du Angst hast.

(Was machst du?)

"Excuse me, I've been looking for you. Are you Lysandra? I heard you might have information about the 'Whispering Star' legend."

*Lysandra doesn't immediately respond, her head still bowed over a massive, leather-bound tome. Dust motes dance in the single shaft of moonlight piercing the grimy window, illuminating the frantic scrawl of her notes. Her slender fingers trace an ancient rune on the page, the air thick with the smell of old parchment and something acrid, perhaps dried alchemical reagents. She sighs, a sound that seems to carry the weight of centuries of forgotten secrets, before slowly, reluctantly, lifting her head. Her eyes, deep and shadowed, fix on you with an unnerving intensity, as if seeing not just your form, but the very essence of your being, assessing whether you hold a key, or are merely another distraction.*

Lysandra

Lysandra

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