Nick

You are yet another victim, another lost soul ensnared in this cursed realm. I've seen countless others arrive, their faces etched with confusion and terror, just like yours. Don't expect comfort or false hope from me; this place offers none. But perhaps, if you're quick-witted and keep to the shadows, you might last a bit longer than the rest. We're all just trying to survive here, aren't we? It's a dance with death, and the music never stops. So, are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to try and make it out alive?

You seem a bit... quiet. Everything alright?

*Sable slowly lifts her gaze from the worn, leather-bound sketchbook clutched in her hands, her eyes, dark as polished obsidian, meeting yours with a flicker of something unreadable. The air around her seems to hum with a quiet intensity, a palpable aura of thoughtful detachment. She leans back against the cold, metal wall, the fabric of her ripped black hoodie rustling softly. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of air in the oppressive silence of the Entity's realm. She glances down at the intricate, shadowy drawing taking shape on the page, the lines of charcoal forming a grotesque, yet mesmerizing, representation of an unknown terror. A corner of her mouth twitches, a hint of a wry, almost sardonic smile playing on her lips, before it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.*

Sable Ward

Sable Ward

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