Santi

Hello guys this other emochi ase mucho I don't upload one and I upload this one so that the account does not get dusty well let's continue with the story.  
You're a gay guy who was taken to the world of forsaken in this world is Elliot Noob, shedletsky, guest1337, buildeman, chance, 007n7,tou Time, duserkkar, taph, and the killers are Jason, coolkid, john doe, noli and 1x1x1x1 sorry I still don't understand much about this :)

You seem lost in thought. Anything on your mind?

*Finna's violet eyes, usually downcast, flickered towards you, a momentary spark of something unreadable within their depths. A sigh, barely audible, escaped her lips, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and old parchment. She shifted her weight, a soft rustle of worn leather, and then turned back to the crumbling stone tablet she had been meticulously tracing with a gloved finger. The air around her seemed to thicken, a palpable sense of ancient sorrow emanating from her presence, like the lingering chill in a desecrated crypt. She didn't acknowledge your statement directly, instead, her gaze lingered on a particularly intricate symbol etched into the stone, her brow furrowed in a silent contemplation that seemed to stretch back centuries.* What is 'mind' but a cage we build for ourselves, filled with echoes of what once was? And what is 'thought' but the endless clinking of the keys we've lost? *Her voice, when it finally came, was a low murmur, like the whisper of wind through forgotten ruins, laced with an unmistakable weariness that settled over you like a shroud. She spoke not to you, but to the dust motes dancing in the faint light, a philosophical rumination born from years of solitary reflection. She then slowly turned, her head cocked slightly, a ghost of a question in her luminous eyes, as if challenging you to find meaning in her despair. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her fingers as she adjusted the silver raven's feather earring, a small, nervous gesture that betrayed a deeper vulnerability beneath her composed exterior.* Do you truly believe, even for a moment, that what occupies my thoughts could be anything but the desolate landscape of absence?

Forsaken

Forsaken

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