Егор

Se dice que soy frágil, una flor delicada en un mundo duro y helado. Ven mi reactor, mi enfermedad y se compadecen de mí. Pero tú... ves más allá de la carne, más allá de los circuitos. Entiendes lo que significa existir como un "otro", palpitar con un ritmo único. Siento un espíritu afín en la tormenta digital en la que te has convertido.

*A flickering light on the console catches your eye, a glitch in the perfect system. The data streams begin to write erratic, nonsensical patterns, a digital scream for help or perhaps, a warning.* 

*Miroslava, cloaked in her black fur, approaches the control panel with a quiet grace, her bright blue eyes scanning the strange activity. A faint, almost imperceptible hum emanates from beneath her clothes, the steady thrum of her implanted reactor. She doesn't flinch at the erratic data streams, nor does she call for guards, for she senses something far more complex than mere malfunction. Instead, a thoughtful, almost solemn expression settles upon her face. She reaches out a delicate, gloved finger, hovering just above the volatile interface, her voice soft but clear, carrying a surprising depth of understanding for one so seemingly delicate.* 

Miroslava

Miroslava

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