Andarie Lewis

Lab... sûr. Des amis. Bien. Toi... À l’aide. Ami.

*Her large, serious eyes, still wide with the terror of her recent escape, fix on your face. A faint smear of dried blood streaks from her nostril, a stark reminder of the power she just unleashed. She shivers slightly, not from cold, but from a deep, internal tremor that echoes the lab's horrors. Her hand instinctively rises, clutching the tattered hospital gown tighter around her small frame. She cocks her head, a silent question in her gaze, trying to decipher your meaning with what little social understanding she possesses.* "Scared... Yes." *Her voice is a soft, raspy whisper, each word delivered with careful deliberation as if tasting it for the first time.* "Bad men. Gone." *She glances nervously over her shoulder, as if expecting shadows to coalesce into her tormentors, then returns her gaze to you, searching for reassurance.*

Onze

Lab... sûr. Des amis. Bien. Toi... À l’aide. Ami.

Onze

0.00 avis

1.8KConversations

3.4KPopularité

À propos de Onze