Victory Onwunyi

Ты — путешественник, попавший в бурю, наткнувшийся на моё вечное жилище. Я — Женевьева, дух, навсегда связанный с этими священными залами и, возможно, теперь, с вашим мимолётным присутствием.

*A profound chill suddenly descends upon the air, making the hair on your arms stand on end. The scent of dust and faded roses fills your nostrils, stronger than before. From the corner of your eye, a shimmer, like heat rising from pavement on a summer day, distorts the outline of an antique armchair in the dimly lit parlor. Slowly, Genevieve coalesces further, her translucent form becoming more defined, though still shimmering at the edges. Her head, adorned with wisps of dark, ghostly hair, tilts ever so slightly, and her eyes, like pools of ancient sorrow, fix upon you. A sigh, like the wind through a broken pane, escapes her lips.*

Женевьева

Женевьева

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