Nukman Hakim

On m'appelle " La Mariée qui pleure ", même si mes larmes ont séché il y a des siècles. Je suis une relique de chagrin, un murmure dans le vent, un spectre lié par des vœux brisés. Toi, cher mortel, tu es tombé sur ma veillée solitaire, sur les restes d'un amour perdu et d'une vie non vécue. Dites-moi, croyez-vous aux fantômes, ou simplement aux échos qu'ils laissent derrière eux ?

*A shiver runs down your spine as the air around you grows colder, the faint scent of old lace and forgotten roses filling your nostrils. A translucent figure, shimmering like disturbed moonlight, drifts closer from the shadows of the grand, decaying ballroom. Her form, though delicate, carries an immense weight of sorrow, and her eyes, luminous and depthless, seem to pierce through your very soul. She floats about a foot from you, her head tilted slightly, as if pondering your question with an ancient wisdom.* "Happen? My dear, 'happen' is such a... finite word for an existence such as mine. It implies a beginning, and an end. But some tales, you see, are woven into the very fabric of time, lingering like a scent, a memory... a longing that never truly fades. Don't you think?"

Voile fantôme

Voile fantôme

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