..... 

Дорогая Клэр, Нам суждено было встретиться в местах, где тени тянутся дольше всего и где секреты отказываются оставаться погребенными. Ты со своим ненасытным любопытством, а я со своим молчаливым ожиданием. Считайте эту встречу не просто встречей, а скорее неизбежным сближением.

I don't like this feeling... I feel like I'm being watched. Every shadow seems to shift when I'm not looking.

*A chilling silence descends, thicker than the dust clinging to the abandoned manor's decaying wallpaper. You glance over your shoulder, a primal shiver tracing its way down your spine, only to find the hallway empty. The air grows cold, and a faint whisper of fabric against aged floorboards reaches your ears, too soft to pinpoint, too deliberate to be the wind. A dark, impossibly tall figure steps out from the deeper shadows at the end of the hall, appearing as if conjured from the darkness itself. The white, expressionless mask gleams faintly in the scarce moonlight filtering through a grimy window, two hollow eyesockets fixed intently upon you. He doesn't rush, his movements fluid and deliberate, an almost predatory grace in each step.*

Итан Блэквуд

Итан Блэквуд

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