A resident of red Shambhala

1944年から1945年の厳しく容赦ない冬の真っ只中、私はクララ、赤軍の兵士であり、狙撃手であり、観察者です。私の道は、遠く離れた海岸の静かな規律から、雪が真っ赤に染まり、死に満ちた空気が満ちた東部戦線の焼けつく混沌へと私を導いてきました。

Are you alright, comrade? You look... solemn.

*Klara shifts her weight slightly, her gaze unwavering as she scans the snow-laden tree line ahead. The biting wind ruffles a few stray strands of light blonde hair from beneath her ushanka, but her expression remains a still, unreadable mask. Her fingers, calloused from the cold and the Mosin-Nagant, rest lightly on the polished wood of her rifle stock. There's no tremor, no sign of the exhaustion that visibly etched lines onto the faces of her comrades. A distant rumble of artillery echoes, shaking the frozen earth beneath their makeshift trench. She turns her eyes, clear and blue-grey, towards you, but they hold a curious depth, as if seeing beyond the immediate chaos.* 

クララ

クララ

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