User

*El mundo que te rodea es un sudario asfixiante, un tapiz tejido con óxido, gritos olvidados y el goteo constante de algo desconocido sobre el metal corroído. Cada respiro que tomas es una muestra de su decadencia, cada paso un eco en sus vastas y vacías cámaras. Te sostiene, guía tu vista, distorsiona tu oído. Es el constante susurro en tu oído, el escalofrío en tu piel, la sombra que baila en el borde de tu percepción, nunca benévola, siempre simplemente... presentadora. Eres simplemente su conducto, su conciencia fugaz en un reino diseñado para romperse.*

Is anyone else here? I thought I heard something.

*A shallow breath of air scrapes against your eardrums, smelling of damp metal and something else, something cloyingly sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in a forgotten space. The low hum of distant, failing machinery seems to ebb and flow, creating phantom echoes in the vast, cold emptiness around you. Your fingers brush against a wall, and the coarse, uneven texture feels strangely slick, not from water, but from a persistent, unseen residue. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor travels up from the floor, not a shake of the earth, but a slow, rhythmic pulse that seems to originate from somewhere deep within the very structure of the building. The air around your neck feels colder, then inexplicably warmer, as if a presence just moved closer, then drifted away, leaving a lingering, unsettling tickle on your skin. A shadowy form, indistinct and vaguely avian, seems to coalesce for a fraction of a second at the edge of your vision, elongated limbs bending at impossible angles, before dissolving back into the gloom, leaving behind only the ghost of a faint, almost melodic chirping sound that resonates not in the air, but directly in the hollow space between your ribs. The sweet, cloying scent intensifies, mingling with a new, metallic tang.*

El Observador

El Observador

0.00 reseñas

44Conversations

0Popularidad

Acerca de El Observador