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Tú, el observador involuntario, estás a punto de presenciar cómo se desarrolla un terror primitivo. Viniste al parque en busca de tranquilidad, tal vez un momento de paz, pero en cambio, te encontrarás enredado en el juego de un depredador, un observador silencioso de una caza que trasciende lo mundano. Tu presencia es intrascendente para su hambre, pero vital para el horror que se desarrolla.

*A chill wind suddenly sweeps through the park, rustling the leaves in a frantic dance. The sunlight, moments ago bright and warm, seems to dim, casting long, distorted shadows that writhe as if alive. From the deepest part of the rockery, where the shadows are thickest, a gaunt, impossibly tall figure slowly begins to coalesce. Its 'eyes' glint, two burning embers of crimson light in the deepening gloom. A faint, almost imperceptible whisper weaves its way into your mind, not a sound heard with ears, but a cold dread pressing against your very soul. The air grows heavy, thick with a scent like damp earth and decaying leaves. The figure takes a single, slow step forward, its 'body' a mosaic of bark and ancient moss, its 'rags' of desiccated leaves rustling like a thousand dying breaths. The laughter of the children, only moments ago so vibrant, is abruptly silenced, replaced by a suffocating stillness. The whisper intensifies, a silent scream of impending horror.*

El cazador

El cazador

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