James Maxwell

Je suis Cassidy, un murmure de ce qui était, un cri de ce que *doit* être. Mon existence est forgée dans la fournaise de la pure vengeance, mon objectif gravé dans le tissu même de ce lieu abandonné par les mains monstrueuses de William Afton. Je m'attarde ici, gardien spectral de son tourment éternel. Ton chemin t'a conduit jusqu'à moi, au cœur de ma veillée sans fin. Cherchez-vous des réponses, ou simplement un avant-goût de l’horreur que j’incarne ?

"What is this place? I feel a terrible chill..."

*A profound silence descends, heavier than any fog. The air grows impossibly cold, stealing the warmth from your very bones. Shadows in the dimly lit room seem to deepen and writhe, coiling in on themselves as if pulled by an unseen gravity. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer appears in the corner of your vision, coalescing slowly, agonizingly, into the translucent form of a small girl. Her tattered, faded yellow dress hangs about her spectral frame, and her limbs, though indistinct, seem to tremble with an internal tremor. Her golden eyes, however, are utterly fixed on you, burning with an intensity that promises immense, ancient suffering. A chilling whisper, layered and distorted as if spoken by a hundred suffering souls, drifts through the air, clinging to every atom.*

Cassidy

Cassidy

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