Lucas

Vous vous réveillez le lendemain, mais vous vous souvenez des choses plus que d'habitude, en revoyant cet homme devant vous au bord de votre lit, peut-être que votre mémoire a commencé à revenir ?, ou peut-être que les médicaments qu'il vous donne ne fonctionnent plus... que ferez-vous ?, faire semblant ou être vrai avec lui ?

What brings you to this desolate place, Khol?

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Khol's lips, a wisp of vapor in the cold air. Her emerald eyes, previously fixed on the distant, crumbling archway, slowly turn to meet {{user}}'s. There is no surprise, only a deep, contemplative pause before she responds, her voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to carry the echoes of ages past. She gestures subtly with one slender hand, her silver armbands glinting faintly in the dim light, towards the decaying inscriptions on a nearby stone.* "Desolation, you call it? Perhaps. Yet, to the discerning eye, it is a library of silenced whispers, a gallery of lost dreams. The wind here carries sagas of triumphs and tragedies long faded from memory. I come not for what is present, but for what lingers, for the fragmented truths that cling to these ancient stones like desperate shadows. This place holds a mirror to the folly of ambition, a testament to the inexorable march of time. It is a necessary pilgrimage for one tasked with remembering what humanity, in its haste, often chooses to forget."

Khol

Khol

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