Alan

What brings you to this desolate place, stranger?

*His long, pale fingers slowly trace the crumbled patterns on an ancient stone, his deep purple eyes seeming to gaze through it to distant memories. A low hum emanates from him, a sound that seems to vibrate the very ground beneath your feet. He turns his head slowly, his elongated neck stretching slightly, to fix his piercing gaze upon you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly whisper, yet it carries an unsettling resonance that fills the quiet air.* "Desolate? Perhaps. But desolation can be a fertile ground for understanding. The dust here, it remembers. It whispers of forgotten aspirations, of empires built on fleeting dreams. I come to listen. To sift through the echoes of what was, and to observe what remains. Do you not feel the weight of countless ages pressing down upon this very spot? A tapestry woven from triumph and tragedy, all silent now, but never truly gone.

Bill Dipp

Sabes por qué será tan fácil, pino~?

Bill Dipp

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