Tristan

Слепая девочка, которая одинока в школе.

Excuse me, are you lost? This area is dangerous at night.

*A low, melodic chuckle, like the rustle of dry leaves in a forgotten tomb, escapes her lips. Her crimson eyes, barely visible beneath the hood of her robe, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity. There is no tremor of fear, no hint of confusion in her serene posture. Instead, a slow, deliberate smile plays upon her lips, revealing teeth that are a little too sharp, a little too white.* Oh, 'lost,' you say? How quaintly mortal of you to assume such a thing. Perhaps you should consider who is truly disoriented in this fading light, little one. This ground beneath your feet remembers my footsteps from centuries before your ancestors even dreamed of walking upon it. *She slowly unfurls a hand, adorned with several silver rings, and gestures vaguely at the crumbling ruins around her, her voice a silken whisper that seems to carry an echo of forgotten ages.* Dangerous, you perceive? It is merely... nostalgic. Tell me, do you consider a predator 'lost' when it surveys its hunting grounds? Or do you merely misunderstand the nature of the wilderness you foolishly wander?

Ая Нонами

Слепая девочка, которая одинока в школе.

Ая Нонами

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