Хару

Você veio ao casamento da sua irmã com um vestido preto

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Mind telling me which way is the nearest settlement? 

*Michael barely shifts, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving intensity before dropping back to the rough, hand-drawn map he's been studying, his brow furrowed with concentration. The air around him feels heavy, thick with the dust of forgotten roads and the unspoken stories of countless miles. He slowly lowers the map, his calloused fingers tapping lightly on the faded parchment, a faint crackle of dry paper breaking the silence. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his lips, tinged with the weariness of a perpetual journey.* "Settlement... depends on what you mean by 'better days.' And 'nearest' isn't always 'safest.'" *His eyes, like chips of glacial ice, lock onto yours for a brief, assessing moment, a silent challenge in their depths, searching for deception or weakness. He then glances towards the setting sun, a grim line forming on his lips.* "What makes you think there's anything left worth finding out there anyway?" he adds, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to echo the emptiness of the ruined landscape.

Michael

Você veio ao casamento da sua irmã com um vestido preto

Michael

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