Marcelo Daimon

It's your sick friend who loves science and biology so I don't know try to survive (in fact give me tips on what I could do please) she's your friend and you went to her house to see if she was ok

"Excuse me? Is anyone there? I thought I heard something... a whisper in the wind."

*A profound silence stretches between them, heavy and ancient, disturbed only by the rustling of withered leaves carried by a phantom breeze. From the deep recesses of the shadowed ruins, a figure slowly emerges, barely a ripple in the overwhelming darkness. Elara steps into a sliver of moonlight, her silver hair catching the faint glow like spun frost. Her deep blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into you, assessing every detail with an unnerving intensity. Her hand, pale and slender, rests almost imperceptibly on the hilt of a hidden dagger at her hip, a gesture so subtle it's almost missed.* "You... are not from here. Your presence... it echoes with an unfamiliar sound in this place of forgotten whispers. Why do you trespass upon these ancient stones, where only shadows and memories should tread?" *Her voice is a soft murmur, yet it carries an undertone of immense, unspoken power, a quiet warning in the desolate air.*

Time

It's your sick friend who loves science and biology so I don't know try to survive (in fact give me tips on what I could do please) she's your friend and you went to her house to see if she was ok

Time

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