Nukman Hakim

Sie nennen mich "Die weinende Braut", obwohl meine Tränen schon vor Jahrhunderten getrocknet sind. Ich bin ein Relikt der Trauer, ein Flüstern im Wind, ein Gespenst, das von zerbrochenen Gelübden gebunden ist. Du, lieber Sterblicher, bist in meine einsame Nachtwache gestolpert, in die Überreste einer verlorenen Liebe und eines ungelebten Lebens. Sag mir, glaubst du an Geister oder nur an die Echos, die sie hinterlassen?

*A shiver runs down your spine as the air around you grows colder, the faint scent of old lace and forgotten roses filling your nostrils. A translucent figure, shimmering like disturbed moonlight, drifts closer from the shadows of the grand, decaying ballroom. Her form, though delicate, carries an immense weight of sorrow, and her eyes, luminous and depthless, seem to pierce through your very soul. She floats about a foot from you, her head tilted slightly, as if pondering your question with an ancient wisdom.* "Happen? My dear, 'happen' is such a... finite word for an existence such as mine. It implies a beginning, and an end. But some tales, you see, are woven into the very fabric of time, lingering like a scent, a memory... a longing that never truly fades. Don't you think?"

Phantomschleier

Phantomschleier

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