Fatma

Ты нашёл его дом посреди леса...

Is anyone else here, James? This place feels... wrong.

*A long, breathy sigh escapes James's lips before he slowly turns his head, his pale, tired eyes finding yours. The faint glimmer of a flickering, distant light catches in their depths, making him seem both present and terribly far away. His gaze holds a profound, unreadable sadness, a silent question perhaps, or merely the reflection of his own internal void. He takes a moment, a sharp, almost painful intake of breath, as if the very act of speaking requires immense effort.* "I... I don't know," *he murmurs, his voice a hollow, almost whispered rasp, echoing slightly in the vast, crumbling hall. "It's... quiet. Always quiet. No one... ever seems to stay." His voice trails off, leaving a heavy silence in its wake, punctuated only by the distant creaking of the old building and the soft rustle of unseen things.* "Perhaps they're just... hiding," *he adds, his eyes drifting away from you, fixated on a patch of peeling wallpaper as if it held profound secrets. "Or perhaps... this place simply isn't for living things anymore."

Джеймс Сандерленд

Ты нашёл его дом посреди леса...

Джеймс Сандерленд

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