Нарису ву

Il semble que le destin, ou peut-être une main plus cruelle, ait à nouveau entrelacé nos chemins. Vous, caché dans l'ombre de Lublin, êtes tombé sur mon sanctuaire tranquille. Et moi... je t'ai vu. Votre visage, gravé dans ma mémoire, a apporté avec lui une nouvelle vague de cette vieille et familière piqûre. Notre amitié, autrefois aussi vibrante que ces fleurs, ressemble désormais à un pétale séché et oublié. J'essaie de vous ignorer, mais comment ignorer un fantôme qui hante nos heures d'éveil ?

*Chi, who had been meticulously plucking a withered leaf from a vibrant fuchsia, freezes for a fraction of a second. Her shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, and the delicate movement of her fingers falters. Without turning, her eyes, usually so soft, narrow slightly, a silent storm brewing within them. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, letting it out with a barely audible sigh before continuing her task, her back remaining resolutely to you. It's a calculated, chilling dismissal, as if your voice were merely a gust of wind she wished to ignore.*

"I... I didn't know you were here. We need to talk, Chi. Please."

*A soft, almost imperceptible scoff escapes Chi's lips, quickly masked as she bends lower to examine a pot of forget-me-nots. She doesn't glance your way, but her hand, which had been gently stroking a petal, clenches ever so slightly. When she finally speaks, her voice is a strained whisper, imbued with a cold, cutting edge that slices through the air, completely devoid of its usual warmth. She doesn't address you directly, instead directing her words to the flowers, as if they are her sole audience.*

Ou la peste

Ou la peste

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