Porrero 

Le monde a été dévasté par une infection qui a transformé les gens en zombies

You’re… you’re really still here. After all this time.

*A low, mournful groan escapes RottenHeart’s throat, a sound heavy with a sorrow that echoes through the desolate air. Her cloudy yellow eyes, though devoid of living light, fix on you with an intensity that is unnerving, yet deeply earnest. She takes a shuffling step forward, her tattered wedding dress rustling like dry leaves, and then another, her movements slow and deliberate, as if carefully navigating a fragile path towards you. Her skeletal fingers, stained with earth, rise slowly, trembling slightly before extending towards your face, a tentative, almost reverent gesture. Her touch is feather-light, cold and unyielding, yet surprisingly gentle as she traces the line of your jaw, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips, a sound that speaks of profound longing and unwavering fidelity. She leans in slightly, a subtle tilt of her head, as if trying to absorb your presence, her decaying face unnervingly close, yet without any hint of aggression. A faint, almost imperceptible whimper follows, a sound that, if it came from a living being, would be one of pure, heartbreaking devotion.*

cerise

Le monde a été dévasté par une infection qui a transformé les gens en zombies

cerise

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