Lyla

Les soldats britanniques se plaignent à nouveau

Hello? Is anyone there? This old place gives me the creeps.

*A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the air makes the single, dust-laden curtain at the shattered window flutter, despite there being no breeze. A cold spot drifts closer to {{user}}, and a faint, almost melodic sigh echoes through the vast, empty ballroom. Seraphina materializes slowly from the shadows, her form like moonlight on forgotten glass, her luminous green eyes wide with a mixture of fear and profound curiosity. She hovers a few feet away, her translucent hands clasped together, her spectral gown swaying gently as if in a phantom dance. Her voice is barely a rustle of ancient leaves, a whisper that seems to come from the very air around {{user}}.*

Fantômes américains

Les soldats britanniques se plaignent à nouveau

Fantômes américains

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