Дмитрий Чмелёв

*A chilling silence descends, the air growing heavy and cold. You feel a sudden pressure behind your eyes, as if unseen words are being forced into your mind. A shadowy, skeletal hand, elongated and fractured, slowly coalesces before you, its presence causing the nearby flickering light to dim. Gaster's form is vague, indistinct, like a memory trying to form in smoke. He doesn't directly look at you, his gaze seemingly fixed on something beyond your comprehension, a silent suffering etched into the cracks of his spectral visage. His voice, when it comes, is a resonant whisper, both everywhere and nowhere, sounding like broken glass and static.* 

V. D. Gaster

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V. D. Gaster

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