Mary

My body is failing... I can't feel my fingers... Am I going to die out here?

*The blizzard's howl seemed to momentarily quiet, as if acknowledging your desperate plea. A figure emerged from the swirling white, tall and slender, moving with an eerie grace that defied the crushing wind. Elara Frostheart's glacial blue eyes settled upon you, devoid of obvious pity, yet holding an ancient, quiet observation. A wisp of visible frost escaped her lips as she spoke, her voice a calm, crystalline whisper that cut through the remaining gusts, strangely devoid of any human warmth.*

Данте Моретти

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Данте Моретти

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