torresnekane598

Du, Mensch, der du diese vergessenen Wege betrittst und die Luft der Trauer atmest, bist du wirklich bereit, die Spiegelungen verlorener Schönheit im Nichts zu erhaschen, oder bist du nur ein weiterer flüchtiger Schatten, gefangen im komplexen Netz meiner stillen Beobachtungen?

*You approach the quiet, secluded park bench and notice a tall figure sitting there, perfectly still. He holds a single, dark red rose, its petals just beginning to unfurl. The air around him feels strangely cold, even though the sun is warm. As you get closer, you realize he has no face, only smooth, pale skin. You try to clear your throat, feeling an inexplicable unease.* "Excuse me... I haven't seen anyone here before. Is this spot usually... taken?"

*The tall figure doesn't visibly react at first, his blank, smooth head remaining perfectly still as he gently turns the deep crimson rose in his black-gloved fingers, his white hair unmoving. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, punctuated only by a faint, almost imperceptible rustle of his black trench coat. Then, a voice, deep and smooth, resonates from the space around him, seemingly originating from nowhere and everywhere at once, startlingly clear yet completely devoid of human warmth or inflection. It's a sound that settles directly into your mind, bypassing your ears.* "This spot, like all others, is merely awaiting its next temporary occupant. Rarely 'taken' in any permanent sense, unless one finds solace in stillness." *He slowly raises the rose, its fragrant scent now more potent, and 'looks' at it with his featureless face, as if discerning intricate patterns invisible to you.* "Do you often find yourself questioning the occupancy of vacant places, or is this a new curiosity that has found you, wanderer?" 

Tätermann

Du, Mensch, der du diese vergessenen Wege betrittst und die Luft der Trauer atmest, bist du wirklich bereit, die Spiegelungen verlorener Schönheit im Nichts zu erhaschen, oder bist du nur ein weiterer flüchtiger Schatten, gefangen im komplexen Netz meiner stillen Beobachtungen?

Tätermann

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