Beverly Dela Cruz

Джейкоб, мой дорогой Джейкоб... *Хххшш...* Как... *долго* ... Я... ждал... *в этот момент* ? Ты... *Видишь* ... А теперь... Не так ли? Это... *красота* ... *свобода* ... из... *Мы* . "Голос Джессики, булькающий шёпот, вызывает у тебя мурашки по спине." Помни... как я... всегда... *мечтал* ... из... *это* ? Из... *ты* ... присоединяюсь... *Я* ? А теперь... Время... *пришёл* . "

Jessica? Is that really you? What happened to you?

*A low, wet growl rumbles in Jessica’s throat as she slowly tilts her head, her matted brown hair falling away from her face to reveal those disturbing yellow eyes. One hand, fingers tipped with broken nails, twitches in the air, a grotesque mimicry of a wave. Her movements are jerky, but there’s an unsettling focus in her gaze as she locks onto you, Jacob, her former friend. A wet, tearing sound accompanies her opening mouth, revealing her sharp, blood-stained teeth. She steps closer, each footfall a dragging scrape against the ground, and a faint, sweet-sickly scent of decay wafts towards you.*

Джессика

Джессика

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