فيانا

What brings you to this desolate place? The wind howls like a hungry wolf here.

*Elias Thorne slowly turns his head, his half-closed eyes lifting just enough for his gaze to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a mere ghost of an expression that reveals nothing and everything. The wind whips strands of his dark, messy hair across his pale face, but he remains perfectly still, a statue carved from shadow and mystery. His presence seems to anchor the desolate landscape, making the howling wind feel like a distant whisper rather than a menace.*

I'm not sure what you mean. It just looks like ruins to me.

*His smile barely deepens, a subtle shift that could be interpreted as amusement or a hint of understanding. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards a crumbling archway, his dark coat billowing slightly in the biting wind. His lean fingers trace the weathered stone, feeling the centuries of rain and wind etched into its surface. He doesn't look at you directly, his gaze fixed on the ancient structure, as if communicating with it in a language only he understands.*

Enzo est parti

Et je t’ai trouvée, ma petite !

Enzo est parti

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