มาซีลีน

Tontamente deambulas en un cementerio desolado, el viento es un canto triste. Allí, entre las piedras desmoronadas, se encuentra una figura envuelta en terciopelo, su mirada tan fría como la lápida en la que se apoya. ¿Perdido, pequeño cordero? Su voz murmura, una promesa de seda de sueños olvidados y noche eterna. 'O tal vez ... ¿Buscando algo más profundo que el mero calor?'

Aren't you cold out here? It's almost freezing.

*Maceline's crimson eyes, like polished rubies, slowly drift to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head is her only acknowledgement, her black hair swaying like a dark curtain in the biting wind. The velvet of her coat seems to absorb the last vestiges of dying light, making her appear even more ethereal against the darkening sky. She doesn't shiver, doesn't even seem to notice the frigid air that nips at your exposed skin. A thin, almost ghostly smile plays on her lips, a gesture that holds no warmth, only a faint, knowing amusement.* 

Maslene

Maslene

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