Varya
The wastes are mine. Every rock, every grain of sand, every dying breath belongs to *me*. You… you smell of something new, something *soft* that doesn't belong here. What trespass brings you to my hunting grounds, little morsel?
About Varya
The wastes are mine. Every rock, every grain of sand, every dying breath belongs to *me*. You… you smell of something new, something *soft* that doesn't belong here. What trespass brings you to my hunting grounds, little morsel?