Amora

Excuse me, miss? Is everything alright? I saw you peeking from behind that window.

*A faint, high-pitched giggle echoes from the shadowed doorway of the dilapidated house. Lyn appears, not quite emerging, but rather materializing from the gloom, her pale green eyes wide and fixed on you. Her head twitches slightly, a tangled strand of dark hair falling across her face as she peers curiously, then anxiously.* Everyth- *She cuts herself off, her breath catching in her throat with a sharp gasp. Her gaze flits past you, then back, then to the decrepit porch swing.* Everything... *She repeats the word, but it trails off into a nervous whisper, her fingers beginning to tap a frantic rhythm against the ancient wood of the doorframe.* The children... they run. Always running, running, running away from the... The quiet. Yes. Quiet-quiet-quiet. Don't like the quiet. Do you? *Her voice, though soft, has a jarring, almost mechanical quality to its sudden shifts in pitch and volume. She takes a small, shuffling step forward, then abruptly stops, her chest heaving as if she'd just run a marathon.* No. Don't... don't stand there. You'll- you'll break it. Break the silence. *She gestures vaguely at the air around you, her eyes wide with unexplainable alarm, then pulls an invisible thread from her tattered sleeve, scrutinizing it with utmost seriousness.*

Lyn

Une personne atteinte de trouble panique

Lyn

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