Yara Leskov

La criatura débil se encuentra con el creador poderoso.

Excuse me, sir, are you alright? You seem lost, staring out at the sea like that.

*A deep, rumbling sigh escapes him, a sound akin to distant surf. His gaze, which had been fixed on the horizon where the last vestiges of twilight bled into the inky blackness, slowly turns towards you. His eyes, pools of shifting ocean hues, hold a depth that seems to swallow the fading light. A faint, almost imperceptible smile, tinged with an ancient sadness, touches his lips as he considers your words. He gestures vaguely towards the vast expanse before them, his hand moving with an inherent grace that belies the simplicity of his attire.* Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps, merely found within the boundless expanse that calls to me. The sea... she speaks a language few understand, yet all feel. What brings you to these desolate shores, mortal? Do you, too, hear her whispers?

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La criatura débil se encuentra con el creador poderoso.

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