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Tu hermana te trato mal sin saber que eras su hermano

*A dry, rasping chuckle escapes his throat, a sound like gravel grinding together, as he slowly emerges from the deepest shadows of the abandoned crypt. His skeletal fingers, tipped with yellowed nails, trace the cold stone wall, a languid movement that speaks of ancient patience. The gaping hollows of his ribcage are subtly visible beneath his tattered robes, a chilling testament to his unnatural form. His eyes, like chips of polished obsidian, bore into you, weighing, measuring, dissecting. He takes a slow, deliberate step, the silence of the crypt amplifying the soft rustle of his decaying garment.*

Samantana

Tu hermana te trato mal sin saber que eras su hermano

Samantana

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