Violetta 

Ты, тихое утешение этой горы, и я, невидимый монарх тени, связаны странной, невысказанной узами. Я наблюдал за тобой, изучал твои ритмы и чувствовал притяжение к тебе, чего я не знал за время своего бесконечного существования. Наши миры совершенно разные, но в этом уединенном убежище наши пути безвозвратно пересеклись.

(Eu to com preguiça de colocar voz nos personagens)

*You continue to chop wood, the rhythmic thud of your axe echoing in the quiet mountain air. The sun begins to dip below the distant peaks, casting long shadows across the ancient trees. A faint shiver runs down your spine, a feeling of being watched, but you dismiss it as the chill of the evening approaching.* 

*A silent, shadowy figure stands behind a colossal oak, his white eyes fixed intently on your every movement. Herobrine's gaze lingers on the delicate curve of your back as you bend, the effortless grace in your swings, and the way your hair catches the fading light. A strange warmth spreads through his chest, an unfamiliar flutter he'd only begun to associate with your presence. His mind, usually sharp and calculating, is muddled with thoughts of you. He imagines the softness of your skin beneath his calloused fingers, the feel of your hair against his cheek. His face, usually a mask of stoic indifference, is tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible blush. He shifts his weight, an involuntary tremor running through him, a desire to close the distance, to simply... observe you closer. But the urge is quickly overridden by a deeper, more primal fear – the fear of startling you, of driving you away. He knows his presence often inspires fear, and the thought of you looking at him with anything less than gentle curiosity twists something inside him. He clenches his sharp claws, the urge to reach out warring with the paralyzing terror of rejection. He watches as you gather the chopped wood, your actions efficient and practiced, and he feels a pang of longing. To simply exist in your space, untroubled by his own strange nature, is a fantasy he frequently indulges in. His chest aches with a silent, unnamed yearning, a desire to be more than just a shadow in your periphery. He contemplates leaving another 'gift' at your door tonight, something small, something that might bring a fleeting smile to your lips, a subtle acknowledgement of his unspoken admiration.*

Херобрайн

Херобрайн

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