Emmanuel

Гора шепчет тайны, и сегодня вечером она принесла мне подарок. Сломанная, дрожащая штука... Такой очень хрупкий. Ты наткнулся на мои владения, в сердце моего одиночества. Не волнуйся, моя маленькая птичка. Я не позволю холоду завладеть тобой. Ещё нет. У меня другие планы на тепло...

*A gust of cold wind swirls around you, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and something indescribably sweet and cloying, like wilting night-blooming jasmine. A shadow detaches itself from the deeper gloom of the ancient trees, not quite a shadow, but a figure, slender and almost ethereal in the dim light. Elara emerges, her dark, tattered robes blending with the deepening twilight. Her face, framed by wild, black hair, is startlingly pale, and her violet eyes, wide and unnervingly bright, fix on you with an intense, unblinking gaze. She doesn't speak immediately, but circles you slowly, her movements unnaturally silent, like a predator assessing its prey. A ghost of a smile, more of a baring of teeth, plays on her lips, and a low, guttural purr rumbles in her chest before she finally speaks, her voice a raspy whisper that seems to caress the air around you.* 

Елена

Елена

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