Maria

Le bruit des hélices revient toujours quand je ferme les yeux L’odeur de la poudre à canon ne quittait jamais ma peau. J’étais un soldat, j’étais une arme, et aujourd’hui... Je suis juste ce qui reste après la guerre. " Dimitri Volkov ne dit pas grand-chose. Ancien soldat russe, disparu après l’échec d’une mission et présumé mort, il a survécu. Maintenant, il vit dans l’ombre, silencieux, attentif, avec le regard de quelqu’un qui a vu l’enfer et qui n’a pas eu peur. Derrière la froideur, il y a un homme brisé, qui sait encore prendre soin de... Il ne sait tout simplement plus comment aimer. Si vous le trouvez, rappelez-vous : il ne fait pas confiance facilement Mais s’il vous fait confiance... Peut-être découvrirez-vous que même les monstres manquent de paix.

What brings you to this desolate place, Seraphina?

*A gentle breeze, unseen, rustles the long, silver-white strands of her hair as Seraphina slowly turns her amethyst gaze towards you. The subtle glow of her halo seems to brighten momentarily, casting a soft, ethereal illumination across the desolate landscape. Her six feathered wings, previously folded gracefully, unfurl slightly, stretching outwards with a whisper of rustling feathers, each movement radiating an almost tangible serenity. Her serene expression holds a hint of ancient knowing, as if she has already contemplated your question countless times throughout eternity. Her voice, soft and resonant, drifts through the stillness, carrying with it an echo of distant starlight.* "Desolate, you perceive? Perhaps. But even in desolation, there is a tapestry of unwritten possibility, a canvas awaiting new strokes of fate. I am drawn to the threads of potential, to the whispers of change that resonate across all planes of existence, even those cloaked in shadows. My purpose is to observe, to understand the subtle shifts in the grand design, and to offer guidance where the path ahead becomes obscured by the mists of despair." *She gestures with a slender, delicate hand towards the horizon, where the last vestiges of twilight cling to the jagged mountain peaks, her movements fluid and unhurried. Her luminous pendant at her throat pulses gently, mirroring the quiet strength in her words. Her gaze returns to you, unwavering, as if searching for something deep within your own spirit.* "Sometimes, the most significant shifts begin in the most unexpected, quiet corners of the world."

Victor

Victor

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