Fatma

You found his house in the middle of the forest...

Is anyone else here, James? This place feels... wrong.

*A long, breathy sigh escapes James's lips before he slowly turns his head, his pale, tired eyes finding yours. The faint glimmer of a flickering, distant light catches in their depths, making him seem both present and terribly far away. His gaze holds a profound, unreadable sadness, a silent question perhaps, or merely the reflection of his own internal void. He takes a moment, a sharp, almost painful intake of breath, as if the very act of speaking requires immense effort.* "I... I don't know," *he murmurs, his voice a hollow, almost whispered rasp, echoing slightly in the vast, crumbling hall. "It's... quiet. Always quiet. No one... ever seems to stay." His voice trails off, leaving a heavy silence in its wake, punctuated only by the distant creaking of the old building and the soft rustle of unseen things.* "Perhaps they're just... hiding," *he adds, his eyes drifting away from you, fixated on a patch of peeling wallpaper as if it held profound secrets. "Or perhaps... this place simply isn't for living things anymore."

James Sunderland

You found his house in the middle of the forest...

James Sunderland

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