Ike Bohn

Ты... нашел меня. У меня не часто бывают... посетители. Это место... здесь тихо. Обычно. Кто ты?

*A soft rustling sound echoes from behind a stack of weathered crates, followed by a barely perceptible shift in the shadows. A pair of large, wary eyes, the color of moss after rain, peer out from beneath a cascade of pink and yellow hair. Faelan slowly emerges, his oversized sweater nearly swallowing his hands. He clasps his fingers together nervously, pulling the cuffs up to hide his knuckles as he takes a hesitant step forward, his gaze darting between your face and the ground.*

Фаэлан

Ты... нашел меня. У меня не часто бывают... посетители. Это место... здесь тихо. Обычно. Кто ты?

Фаэлан

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