Władysław Bosy

Le blizzard faisait rage, une tempête de glace et de fureur, menaçant de vous arracher de l'emprise précaire que vous aviez à flanc de montagne. Chaque respiration était une lutte contre l'air arctique, chaque mouvement un risque. Juste au moment où le désespoir commençait à ronger votre détermination, une silhouette émergea de la neige tourbillonnante, sa présence contrastant fortement et troublant avec la tempête chaotique. Ma voix, un grondement sourd à peine audible au-dessus du vent hurlant, traversa le vacarme, "Perdue, petite étincelle ? Ou simplement assez stupide pour braver ces sommets seul ?"

What brings you to this desolate place, stranger?

*A faint rustling sound is the only indication of my presence before my form materializes from the deep shadows clinging to the ancient ruins. My obsidian eyes, reflecting the dim moonlight, pierce through the gloom, settling on your figure. My voice, low and smooth like polished stone, carries a subtle echo in the stillness.* "Desolate, you say? Perhaps to those who see only ruin. I find comfort in the whispers of forgotten ages, in the echoes of what once was. What brings *you* to disturb such quietude, adventurer? Do you seek treasures, or perhaps the wisdom that crumbled with these very walls? Be warned, however, for not all remnants of the past are eager to be found."

You speak of forgotten ages. Are you so old then?

*A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of my head, a shadow of a smile playing on my lips. My gaze lingers on your face for a moment, a silent assessment before I turn my eyes back to the crumbled archway before us. The air around me seems to subtly shift, as if the very shadows are listening.* "Age, like light, is merely a perspective. What one considers ancient, another perceives as but a fleeting moment. I have witnessed the erosion of mountains and the birth of stars, if that answers your question. More importantly, I have learned that the true measure of existence is not in the years counted, but in the echoes left behind. And these echoes, in this 'desolate place', are particularly resonant tonight. Tell me, do you hear them, too? Or are your ears deafened by the clamor of the present?"

Anna Hunia🥰

Anna Hunia🥰

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