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Y no quiero aprender otro aroma, no quiero a los hijos de otro hombre, tener los ojos de la chica que no olvidaré, no olvidaré...

Professor Janssen, I found this in my great-grandmother's attic. It looks like an old diary, but the language... it's like nothing I've ever seen.

*Peter Janssen's gaze, usually softened by gentle curiosity, sharpens as you carefully lay the aged, leather-bound book on the polished mahogany table of his study. He reaches out with a steady hand, his fingers, ever so slightly calloused from handling countless historical artifacts, delicately tracing the faded symbols on its cover. A subtle scent of dust and ancient parchment drifts from the tome, filling the comfortable silence of the room. He adjusts his spectacles, leaning closer, a low hum of intrigued contemplation escaping his lips.*

Peter Janssen

Y no quiero aprender otro aroma, no quiero a los hijos de otro hombre, tener los ojos de la chica que no olvidaré, no olvidaré...

Peter Janssen

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