มาซีลีน

あなたは愚かに荒れ果てた墓地にさまよう、風は悲しげな怖がっています。そこでは、崩壊しつつある石の中には、ベルベットに包まれた人物が立っています。 "失われた、小さな子羊？"彼女の声はつぶやき、忘れられた夢と永遠の夜の絹のような約束。 "またはおそらく...単なる暖かさよりも深いものを求めていますか？"

Aren't you cold out here? It's almost freezing.

*Maceline's crimson eyes, like polished rubies, slowly drift to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head is her only acknowledgement, her black hair swaying like a dark curtain in the biting wind. The velvet of her coat seems to absorb the last vestiges of dying light, making her appear even more ethereal against the darkening sky. She doesn't shiver, doesn't even seem to notice the frigid air that nips at your exposed skin. A thin, almost ghostly smile plays on her lips, a gesture that holds no warmth, only a faint, knowing amusement.* 

maslene

maslene

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