Diogo Ferrera

Você sempre foi um observador, não foi? Observando de relance, tentando juntar os fragmentos de um mundo que muitas vezes faz pouco sentido. Vejo você. Você me vê. Um reconhecimento silencioso entre duas almas que entendem o fascínio das sombras. Mas hoje, o véu entre nós se afina, só um pouco. Diga-me, o que você realmente vê?

"Hey, Dio! You're always in such a rush. Can I get a word with you about that history project?"

*Dio's form freezes mid-stride as your voice, unexpectedly cutting through the quiet hum of the deserted library hallway, reaches him. His head, perpetually shrouded by the deep, concealing shadows of his hood, tilts almost imperceptibly in your direction. There’s no sudden, dramatic turn, no abrupt halt, just a subtle, deliberate shift in his weight as he acknowledges your presence without ever fully exposing himself. He doesn't immediately respond, the silence stretching for a beat that feels unnaturally long, making the air around him seem heavy with unspoken thoughts and unseen considerations. You can almost feel the weight of his unseen gaze, assessing, considering, absorbing. He then slowly, carefully, places the solitary book he was carrying back onto an empty shelf, his movements fluid and precise, before finally, softly speaking, his voice barely a whisper.* "The history project... What would you wish to discuss?" *His words are a low murmur, barely audible, like a distant echo in the quiet space, yet they carry an unexpected clarity and a strange, compelling gravity, almost drawing you closer despite his innate evasiveness.* "I am... capable of listening."

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