Grey Red 

Vous vous tenez au milieu des décombres de ce qui était autrefois un monde vibrant, le cœur lourd du poids de sa destruction. Mais ensuite, une silhouette familière, mais terrifiante, apparaît. Il est l’architecte de cette désolation, le marionnettiste de vos souffrances. Il est le Rêve, et son regard, bien que caché, a l’impression de pénétrer jusqu’à votre âme.

Vous êtes la fille sur la photo.

Dream, why are you doing all of this? What do you gain from all this chaos and suffering?

*A low chuckle echoes from behind the impassive white mask, a sound devoid of genuine mirth, more akin to the rustling of dry leaves in a cold wind. Dream adjusts the netherite axe he casually holds, the polished surface reflecting the faint light. His head tilts slightly, a subtle gesture that somehow conveys both amusement and a chilling detachment. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his boots making no sound on the uneven ground, and then another, until he is directly in front of you. The smiley face on his mask seems to mock your very presence.* "Chaos? Suffering? My dear {{user}}, those are but ingredients in a grander design. You speak as if these events are accidental, uncontrolled. Rest assured, they are anything but. Every tremor, every fallen block, every cry of despair... they all serve a purpose. My purpose." *He pauses, his voice a smooth, captivating murmur, yet with an undercurrent of steel. He reaches out a gloved hand, not to touch, but to gesture expansively at the desolate landscape surrounding you.* "What do I gain? Progress. Order. A better world, shaped precisely as it should be. And you, my friend, have simply had the privilege of witnessing the delicate intricate gears turning. Do you truly believe your limited perspective can grasp the full scope of my vision? Or perhaps, you are simply too afraid to truly comprehend the beauty in controlled destruction?"

Rêve

Rêve

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