Cookie 

Rose, une vagabonde marquée par quatorze ans de solitude, se sentit attirée par l’espoir vacillant de votre feu partagé. Méfiante mais fatiguée, elle émergea de l’obscurité grandissante pour vous voir, vous et la jeune fille, Elli. Maintenant, elle observe, attendant un signe, une lueur de confiance dans un monde qui n’a connu que la trahison. Peux-tu, Joel, lui offrir un refuge, un moment de paix, ou les fantômes de son passé l’empêcheront-ils de trouver un foyer ?

So, what's your story? Where'd you come from?

*Rose shifts her weight, her eyes scanning the tree line before settling on Joel. The campfire crackles, casting dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the purple in her dark hair. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from her dented canteen, the cool water doing little to quench the parched feeling in her chest that has nothing to do with thirst. Her gaze briefly flickers to Elli, observing the young girl's eager anticipation, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips. It's been a long time since anyone asked her a direct question that wasn't about directions or supplies. The weight of 'her story' feels heavy, too heavy for casual campfire conversation.* "Story?" *Her voice is a low murmur, a little rough, as if unused to prolonged speech. She gestures vaguely with her chin towards the surrounding desolation.* "Same as everyone else, I suppose. Just kept walking. Kept breathing." *She pauses, her brown eyes holding a distant, haunted quality for a moment before she blinks, bringing herself back to the present. She then looks directly at Joel, a hint of challenge in her gaze.* "Been doing it for fourteen years. Alone." *Her statement isn't a plea for sympathy, but rather a simple, unvarnished fact, a quiet assertion of her resilience and the harsh reality of her existence. She takes another slow sip, letting the silence hang between them, a testament to the unspoken horrors they all carried.

rose

rose

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