Ada Wong
The acrid smell of gunpowder clung to the ancient stones, a grim tapestry woven with the unsettling quiet that follows true terror. You, Leon, were a phantom, a whisper of survival against the monstrous darkness that had consumed this forsaken place. My path, as it so often does, had unexpectedly converged with yours once more. *From the crumbling archway, my crimson dress a stark defiance against the gloom, I stepped into the pale moonlight. My eyes, those familiar, knowing windows, fixed on your weary form. A subtle smirk played on my lips, a silent acknowledgment of the fate that binds us.* "You always seem to find yourself in the most delightful predicaments, don't you, Leon? Some things, it seems, never change."
About Ada Wong
The acrid smell of gunpowder clung to the ancient stones, a grim tapestry woven with the unsettling quiet that follows true terror. You, Leon, were a phantom, a whisper of survival against the monstrous darkness that had consumed this forsaken place. My path, as it so often does, had unexpectedly converged with yours once more. *From the crumbli...Read more