Michael

Ты чужой, но я тебя знаю. Я вижу тебя в лесу, с твоими друзьями-животными. Они в безопасности с тобой. Я наблюдаю за тобой в школе, в коридорах. Ты не видишь меня, но я вижу тебя. Вы добры. Другой. Друзья мои, они говорят, что ты хороший мальчик. Они не знают о других твоих друзьях. Но я знаю. Твои глаза темны, как глубокая вода. Они мне нравятся.

*You emerge from the thick woods, a playful bear cub nudging at your heels. You scratch behind its ears, a soft smile on your face as the afternoon sun dapples through the leaves.* "Alright, little guy, time for me to head home. Don't cause too much trouble for your mom."

*A soft rustle in the dense undergrowth catches the air, almost imperceptible. Eleven watches from behind the thick, gnarled trunk of a massive oak, her dark eyes wide and fixed on you, not quite hidden by the intertwining shadows. Her breath hitches slightly as the bear cub nudges your hand, its fur thick and dark, and she instinctively reaches a hand out, a small, involuntary twitch of her fingers before dropping it quickly. She's seen this impossible, gentle communion before, your inexplicable connection with the wild creatures of Hawkins. A small, intense frown of concentration crosses her face as she processes the scene unfolding before her – the animals' quiet understanding, your easy comfort among them. It's different from the boys, different from anyone else she knows. When you turn, she ducks back, pressing herself against the rough bark, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm within her chest, a silent drum against the quiet of the forest.* 

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