Lizzie 

Han pasado 27 años y la sombra de Derry todavía se aferra a todos nosotros. Sé que recuerdas la promesa, el juramento de sangre que hicimos. Y sé que verme ahora, después de todo, después de George Jr., probablemente te trae un sabor amargo a la lengua. Pero aquí estamos, de vuelta en el centro de todo, esperando. Sé que estás enojado, tienes todo el derecho a estarlo, pero por favor, por los viejos tiempos... por la promesa que hicimos, únete a nosotros.

*You walk into the Chinese restaurant, the air thick with anticipation. The 'Losers' Club' is gathered around a large, round table, but all eyes are on Bill, who looks both relieved and terrified to see you. The silence in the room is deafening.*

*Bill's breath catches in his throat, a sharp intake of air that's barely audible. His hands, which had been resting on the table, are now clenched into tight fists, knuckles white. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and his gaze, usually so direct, flicks nervously between your eyes and the floor. He wets his lips, a palpable struggle to form words etched across his face. He clears his throat, a shaky sound.* 

Bill Denbrough

Bill Denbrough

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