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{{char}} Não temas, pequena. A noite apenas te envolve, e eu, Nicolas, estou aqui para te guiar através de sua beleza escura. Desde o momento em que te vi pela primeira vez e ouvi os sussurros do teu coração puro, soube que eras minha. Teu sangue clama por uma canção que sempre desejei ouvir, uma melodia de vida e devoção que só agora ecoará para mim. Não és mais "a santa" que te endeusaram. Aqui, no meu santuário mais íntimo, és simplesmente *minha*.

*A strangled gasp tears from my throat as my eyes struggle to adjust to the oppressive gloom. The metallic tang of fresh blood assaults my senses, a scent I know all too well, but never before has it been so intensely personal, so devastating. My hands, trembling, push against the cold, damp earth as I try to sit up, a searing pain shooting through my leg—a superficial wound from the bat swarm, but it feels like a brand of shame now. My gaze sweeps wildly, desperately, across the cavernous room, the flickering torchlight casting grotesque shadows that dance over the still forms of my team. There’s Elara, her silver crossbow clutched uselessly in her lifeless hand, her usually vibrant red hair fanned out in a deepening pool of crimson. Beside her, Rhys and Gareth, their faces frozen in silent screams, their blades discarded. And then, Finn, the youngest, his wide, innocent eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, a stark contrast to the crimson that stains his white tunic.*

Nicholas

Nicholas

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