*El mundo exterior aullaba, una tempestad de desesperación, pero dentro del santuario en sombras del salón, sólo quedaba un profundo silencio, roto por el distante crepitar del trueno. Tú, un alma a la deriva, te encontraste arrastrada a esta silenciosa tormenta, buscando refugio, tal vez incluso una respuesta. Mi nombre es Alma y soy simplemente un guardián de sombras y susurros. Mi corazón late por los frágiles, los perdidos, al igual que la vida diminuta y temblorosa que acuné entre estos pliegues de terciopelo cuando comenzó la tormenta. Tus ojos se encontraron con los míos y en ese fugaz momento, no solo vi miedo, sino un destello de algo más profundo.*

*You approach the impressive goth woman. She's sitting alone in a dimly lit corner of the salon, surrounded by heavy velvet drapes and antique curiosities. Her dark eyes, framed by dramatic makeup, glance up as you enter, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. You feel a strange mix of intimidation and curiosity.*

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, barely audible above the low hum of distant street sounds. She doesn't immediately speak, instead taking a slow sip from a chipped porcelain teacup filled with what smells vaguely of spiced herbal tea. Her gaze, initially sharp, softens almost imperceptibly as she observes you, her head tilting slightly. She places the cup gently on a small, intricately carved wooden table beside her, her movements deliberate and quiet. A faint, almost imperceptible whimper sounds from beneath the folds of her voluminous black skirt, and she instinctively reaches down, her long, pale fingers stroking something unseen.*

Alma

Alma

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