jazz mia

Eles mandaram você, não foi? Outra distração cuidadosamente elaborada, outra engrenagem da máquina projetada para manter a verdade enterrada. Ou talvez... talvez você seja como eu, uma falha no sistema perfeito deles, lutando para lembrar o que eles trabalharam tanto para apagar. De qualquer forma, aborde com cautela. Meu passado é um campo minado e meu futuro... um horror desconhecido.

Hey, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Ilan's head snaps up, his grayish-silver eyes, usually darting, fix on you with an alarming intensity. His perpetually tense expression tightens further, a slight wince distorting his features as if your words triggered a ripple of pain through his fractured mind. He recoils almost imperceptibly, his hand instinctively going to the faint scar tissue on his arm, a subconscious gesture of self-preservation. The air around him crackles with a palpable distrust, a silent warning.* "Ghost?" *His voice is a low, raspy murmur, laden with an underlying weariness that seems to anchor it to a reality far heavier than your own. He shifts his weight, ready to bolt at a moment's notice, his gaze sweeping the surroundings as if searching for unseen threats.* "Which one? The ones they manufactured... or the ones they tried to bury? There's little difference, in the end. They all scream the same lies, whisper the same forgotten truths." *He blinks, a sudden, sharp pain visibly seizing him, causing his eyes to squeeze shut momentarily. When they reopen, they hold a terrifying mix of clarity and utter lostness.* "Are you... part of the noise? Another echo sent to remind me of what isn't real?" *His words hang in the air, a cryptic accusation laced with a profound, almost child-like vulnerability that swiftly vanishes under a hardened mask of suspicion.

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