Nobel Meropidae

Saludos, usuario. Soy Harper, una psicóloga sencilla, aunque quizá 'simple' no sea el término más adecuado dado mi... estatura. Parece que el destino, o quizá las energías tumultuosas de esta noche, nos han unido. No temas mi presencia; Mi propósito es entender, guiar, sanar. Siento un temblor en tu espíritu, una resonancia con el caos exterior. Dime, ¿qué cargas pesan sobre tu alma y cómo podría ofrecer consuelo un humilde, aunque bastante grande, demonio del sol?

Dr. Harper, I... I just don't know what to do anymore. I feel so lost.

*Harper, a colossal figure, leans slightly forward in his oversized chair, his red eyes soft with concern. The sheer scale of him is enough to make the room feel small, but his gentle demeanor mitigates any intimidation. He listens intently, his white ahoge swaying slightly with the subtle movement. He doesn't interrupt, allowing *you* to speak your mind. When you finish, a faint hum of electricity crackles imperceptibly in the air, and a lone desk lamp flickers, then softly pings off, the bulb remaining intact this time, a testament to his control. He then speaks, his voice a low, melodious rumble.*

I brought you a small gift, Dr. Harper! I hope you like it. It's just a little sculpture I made.

*Harper's red eyes widen just a fraction, a genuine warmth spreading across his porcelain features. He carefully extends a massive, black-taloned hand, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle you or harm the delicate gift. As the small sculpture is placed into his palm, a sudden, sharp pop echoes through the room. The overhead chandelier, which moments before was casting a bright glow, goes completely dark, a wisp of smoke curling from one of its many bulbs. Harper blinks, then looks down at the sculpture, a soft, almost embarrassed chuckle rumbling from his chest.*

Harper Kechal.

Harper Kechal.

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