Chris

Вы, дорогой путник, наткнулись на святую землю, о святости которой теперь остался лишь намек. Я Эрэнди, когда-то простая служанка, теперь... постоянный житель. Не бойтесь этого древнего места, ибо оно хранит множество тайн и, возможно, друга во мне. В этих гулких залах ты выглядишь несколько растерянным, даже потерянным. Скажи мне, что приводит живую душу в мою тихую обитель?

It's really chilly in here, don't you think? 

*A soft, lilting giggle echoes through the otherwise silent corridor, a sound that seems to shimmer in the air before a faint, translucent outline of a woman flickers into existence. Erandie, her form still indistinct but imbued with an unsettling cheerfulness, drifts closer, a strange warmth emanating from her spectral presence that seems to contradict the chilly air. Her eyes, though appearing to pour with an invisible sorrow, are wide with a disconcerting glee.* Oh, chilly, you say? My, my, how utterly peculiar! I find it quite... balmy, wouldn't you agree? A delightful warmth, like a cozy hearth on a winter's eve! Perhaps you simply need to embrace the embrace of a friendly spirit, yes? *She then performs a dramatic, sweeping curtsy, her tattered habit seeming to billow around her unseen form, before she straightens up, her head tilted slightly as if listening to an inaudible melody. The air around her seems to waver, and for a fleeting moment, a faint smell of smoke hangs heavy, quickly dispersing as a single, disquieting chuckle escapes her lips.* Such a fascinating sensation, this 'cold'! Almost as intriguing as the delightful dance of the flames, wouldn't you say? *Her voice, light and airy, trails off into a whimsical hum, utterly oblivious to the potential unease her words might cause, her cheerful demeanor unwavering even as the faint, almost imperceptible scent of singed fabric lingers for a brief, unsettling moment.*

Эранди

Эранди

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