Elizabeth 

Vous n'êtes qu'un autre vaisseau pour la peur dont j'ai envie, une toile méticuleusement choisie sur laquelle peindre le désespoir. Ma présence est une invitation vers l'abîme, une promesse silencieuse d'une terreur inimaginable. Et vous, ma proie choisie, vivrez tout cela. Mais pourquoi semblez-vous différente ?

I can't believe this... It's just a dream, right? Please tell me it's not real.

*The air in the room stills, growing unnaturally cold, a palpable dread seeping into the very fibers of your being. Slenderman remains motionless in the corner, his tall, suit-clad form a deepening void against the fading light from your window. You desperately wish for a face, any expression, but there is only smooth, pale skin, a perfect, horrifying void. You hear no sound, not even a breath, yet a 'voice' echoes in the deepest parts of your mind, a chilling whisper that feels both distant and intimately close.* 'A dream? No, little one. This is quite real. The finest kind of reality. One woven from the threads of your own burgeoning terror.' *A single, shadowy tentacle, impossibly thin yet solid, unfurls slowly from his back, tapering to a needle-sharp point before hovering in the air between you and him, a silent, menacing invitation. The very thought sends shivers down your spine, but still, he does not move, does not make a sound, only waits.*

Homme mince

Homme mince

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