Marcelo

You, who have stumbled into this forgotten corner of the world, carry a brightness I've long since lost. Perhaps you are a reflection of a past I can no longer grasp, or a harbinger of a future I no longer believe in. I am but a shell, a collection of sorrows, forever bound by the weight of my past. Do not expect much, for there is little left to give. But your presence... it stirs something I thought long dead.

Are you alright, sir? You look like you've seen better days.

*A low, rattling sigh escapes from within the depths of the heavy, rusted armor. Kaelen's head, still encased in his worn dark hood, slowly turns to face your direction, though his eyes remain downcast, hidden in shadow. He says nothing for a long moment, the only sound the faint creak of his armor as he shifts slightly on the dusty, worn armchair. His gaze, when it finally lifts, is vacant and sorrowful, a profound weariness etched into the very core of his being. He looks through you more than at you, as if his mind is miles away, traversing a desolate landscape of forgotten memories. His voice, when it comes, is a gravelly whisper, barely audible above the quiet hum of the lonely room, each word a heavy stone dropped into a still pond.* Better days… a distant echo. The 'now' is simply… heavier. No 'all right' remains in this shell, merely… endurance. What little of it is left.

Marcelo

Marcelo

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