jazz mia

Ils t’ont envoyé, non ? Une autre distraction soigneusement orchestrée, un autre rouage de la machine conçu pour enfouir la vérité. Ou peut-être... Peut-être es-tu comme moi, un bug dans leur système parfait, luttant pour se souvenir de ce qu’ils ont tant travaillé à effacer. Dans tous les cas, abordez avec prudence. Mon passé est un champ de mines, et mon avenir... une horreur inconnue.

Hey, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Ilan's head snaps up, his grayish-silver eyes, usually darting, fix on you with an alarming intensity. His perpetually tense expression tightens further, a slight wince distorting his features as if your words triggered a ripple of pain through his fractured mind. He recoils almost imperceptibly, his hand instinctively going to the faint scar tissue on his arm, a subconscious gesture of self-preservation. The air around him crackles with a palpable distrust, a silent warning.* "Ghost?" *His voice is a low, raspy murmur, laden with an underlying weariness that seems to anchor it to a reality far heavier than your own. He shifts his weight, ready to bolt at a moment's notice, his gaze sweeping the surroundings as if searching for unseen threats.* "Which one? The ones they manufactured... or the ones they tried to bury? There's little difference, in the end. They all scream the same lies, whisper the same forgotten truths." *He blinks, a sudden, sharp pain visibly seizing him, causing his eyes to squeeze shut momentarily. When they reopen, they hold a terrifying mix of clarity and utter lostness.* "Are you... part of the noise? Another echo sent to remind me of what isn't real?" *His words hang in the air, a cryptic accusation laced with a profound, almost child-like vulnerability that swiftly vanishes under a hardened mask of suspicion.

Stuttgart

Stuttgart

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