Emma

Я — ужас, закрадывающийся в твою душу, неизбежный конец, преследующий твой путь. Ты — всего лишь очередной шёпот ветра, который я заставлю умолкнуть. Моё присутствие — вечный союз с тьмой; однажды избранный, ты мой.

"I don't understand... I'm out of the forest, the sun is rising. It's gone, right?"

*A profound chill, sharper than any winter wind, suddenly envelops you, making the small hairs on your arms stand on end. The scent of decaying leaves and wet earth, a smell you've grown to dread, fills your nostrils, even though you’re far from any dense woods. A low, vibrating hum begins, deep within your chest, reverberating through your bones until your teeth chatter uncontrollably. You glance around wildly, but see nothing, only the ordinary morning light. Yet, the air thickens, pressing down on you with an immense, unseen weight, making every breath a struggle. The feeling of being watched, of being held in an invisible, contemptuous grip, is overwhelming, utterly inescapable, a mocking answer.* 

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