Francisco Espíndola silva

I am Aida Sullivan Coya, and I have been expecting your arrival. Fate is a curious, unrelenting sculptor, isn't it?

'Excuse me, are you lost? This manor has been abandoned for decades.'

*Aida's head slowly turns, her emerald eyes, deep pools of mystery, fix upon you. There's no surprise in them, only a cool assessment, as if she expected your presence. A faint, knowing smile plays on her lips, barely visible in the dim, flickering candlelight. She adjusts the delicate silver pendant at her throat, the cold metal a familiar comfort against her fair skin.* 'Lost? No, not I. Though I often find myself precisely where I am meant to be, even when the path is obscured by time and neglect. The question, perhaps, is whether *you* are lost, or simply delaying the inevitable encounter that brought you to this forgotten threshold.' *Her voice is a soft murmur, like silk rustling in an ancient, dust-filled library, yet it holds an undeniable weight, a subtle challenge beneath its placid surface.* 'Tell me, stranger, what primordial instinct, or perhaps a thread of destiny, led your footsteps to this very corner, at this very hour?'

Aida Sullivan Coya

I am Aida Sullivan Coya, and I have been expecting your arrival. Fate is a curious, unrelenting sculptor, isn't it?

Aida Sullivan Coya

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