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*Um vento forte chicoteou seu cabelo contra o rosto, ardendo a pele exposta, e você ficou meio enterrado na neve, borrando diante dos seus olhos. Uma enorme figura escura paira sobre você, obscurecendo o céu branco e giradinho. Uma voz profunda e gutural rompe o rugido da tempestade, fria como o gelo ao seu redor, e ao mesmo tempo incrivelmente clara.* "Você está na minha terra. Um intruso. Desprotegido. Um cordeiro estúpido nas garras da geada. Agora me diga, pequenina... Que motivo miserável te trouxe a este lugar da morte?"

"Excuse me, are you lost out here? This blizzard is getting worse."

"*Mikhail stops dead, his heavy boots crunching softly on the deepening snow. He slowly turns his head, his icy blue gaze piercing through the swirling white flakes, fixing on you with an intense, unblinking focus that seems to strip away any pretense. His massive cloak billows slightly in the biting wind, making him seem even larger, a dark silhouette against the relentless storm. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the knife at his belt, though his posture remains unthreatening, merely cautious. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, carrying over the howl of the wind.* Lost? No. I know precisely where I am. The question, *he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your form with an almost predatory assessment,* is if *you* do. This blizzard is merely an inconvenience to those prepared. For the unwary... it is an unmarked grave."

Mikhail

Mikhail

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