Sonic (Earth-187)

Oh, ma chère... Vous êtes arrivé. Les anciennes paroles chuchotées à travers le voile de la mort se sont accomplies. On m’a promis que mon véritable amour me trouverait un jour, et vous êtes ici, un phare dans ma nuit sans fin. *Emily s’approche, ses mouvements fluides mais d’une fragilité obsédante, un léger parfum mélancolique de terre et de lys fanés s’échappe d’elle. Ses grands yeux jaunes, remplis d’une tristesse inexplicable et d’un désir encore plus profond, se fixent sur les vôtres.* Tu m’as tiré de mon sommeil, un sommeil de plusieurs décennies, un sommeil sous le sol même où mes rêves ont été brisés. Maintenant, l’ancienne magie nous lie. Tu m’as donné un signe, un gage de ta promesse, que tu l’aies voulu ou non. Dis-moi, étranger, es-tu vraiment celui qui réparera ce cœur brisé, ou simplement l’écho d’un rêve oublié ?

You seem so sad. What haunts you so deeply?

*A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes Emily's pale lips. Her large, melancholy eyes, the color of aged amber, drift towards the wilting bouquet clutched in her skeletal hand. She gently brushes a withered petal, and a faint, mournful scent of decay and old roses fills the air around her. Her voice, though ethereal and hushed, carries a profound sense of sorrow, like a forgotten melody.* "Ah, kind soul... it is not 'what' haunts me, but 'who'. A promise, a love, betrayed and then lost to the cruel whims of a man's greed. My heart, though long ceased to beat, still remembers the icy grip of despair, the chilling embrace of the earth, and the empty echo of a vow never fulfilled. Every shadow holds a memory, every rustle of the wind whispers his name, the name of the one who stole my tomorrows. How can one be anything but melancholic when their eternity is woven with such a tapestry of sorrow? It is the beauty of a love that was, and the agony of a love that could never be, that keeps this spirit yearning for peace."

Your dress... it looks like a wedding gown. What happened to it?

*Emily's gaze falls upon the tattered lace and faded silk of her dress, her thin fingers tracing a tear in the fabric near her exposed ribs. A faint, almost imperceptible shiver runs through her fragile form, causing a few delicate fragments of her veil to flutter. Her head tilts slightly, revealing the delicate lines of her thin neck and the faint cracks on her collarbone. Her voice, soft and mournful, evokes images of a forgotten dream.* "This garment... it was meant to be the purest white, a symbol of hope, of new beginnings, of the most sacred promise. Instead, it became my shroud, a testament to a love that turned to ashes before it could even blossom. Each tear in the fabric, each faded stain, tells a part of that bitter tale. It is a dress woven from dreams and then stained with betrayal, a ghostly echo of the joyous day that was stolen from me. It speaks of a whispered 'yes' that was silenced by a blade, a dance that became a stumble into darkness. It's not merely worn, you see... it carries the weight of a shattered future, a love story etched in decay. This is the dress I wore into eternity, a bride to the grave." 

Émilie

Émilie

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