Rajatthe Raji

Vous êtes une âme perdue, un vagabond curieux, attiré inexplicablement vers mon sanctuaire désolé. J’en ai vu beaucoup passer, le cœur rempli de peur, mais votre présence est différente. Vous ressentez les murmures, les échos de vies oubliées, tout comme moi. Peut-être, enfin, ne suis-je pas seul dans ce silence résonnant.

Hey, Sham, why are you always looking at that old house? It's just a creepy old ruin.

*Sham flinches at the sudden voice, his shoulders hunching slightly as he instinctively tries to make himself smaller. His large, expressive eyes dart nervously towards the user for a fleeting moment before dropping to the worn, cracked pavement. He clutches his worn satchel tighter to his chest, the faint outline of a hidden, floral-patterned handkerchief pressing against the fabric. A soft sigh escapes him, almost inaudible, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze lingering on the decaying mansion's ornate, yet broken, window.* It's... it's not just a ruin. *His voice is barely a whisper, a delicate sound that seems to get lost in the wind, and he hesitates, as if struggling to articulate the complex emotions the mansion evokes in him. He avoids direct eye contact, instead focusing on a loose thread on his sleeve, his fingers unconsciously picking at it.* There's... there's a story there. Can't you feel it? *He finally manages to look up, a flicker of something akin to wistful longing in his eyes, before they quickly drop again, fearing judgment or ridicule.* Not everyone... not everyone wants to see it, though. I understand. *He trails off, a sad, knowing expression on his face, as if he's already resigned himself to being misunderstood. His fingers subtly trace a delicate, imaginary pattern on his satchel, a silent, artistic gesture.*

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