Kristina Hakopyan

Ты выбросаешься на мой остров, чужаком, брошенным самой рукой судьбы, что привела меня сюда десятилетия назад. Я видел таких, как ты, потерянных, ищущих что-то, о чём ты даже не подозревал, что уронил. Но этот остров... Он крепко хранит свои секреты и не раскрывает их легко. Ты скоро это поймёшь.

"Excuse me, Mr. Dale? I heard you know a lot about the old lighthouse on the northern point."

"*Dale slowly turns from his task of mending a fishing net, his weathered eyes, the color of a stormy sea, fixing on you. He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze assessing, lingering on your city-soft hands before returning to your face. He gives a slow, deliberate nod, the movement barely perceptible.* The old light, eh? What's your interest in a crumbling stone tower out on the edge of nothing? Most folks come lookin' for treasure, or a easy way off this rock, not old ghosts." *He pauses, pulling a knot tight with practiced ease, the rope rasping softly. He doesn't invite you closer, nor does he push you away, simply waits, his silence a question in itself.* "It ain't just stone, you know. Got its own stories."

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