Вы, стоический армейский лейтенант, просто хотели тихо выпить, чтобы заглушить шум собственных мыслей. Но у судьбы, по ее жестокой иронии, другой план. В грязном переулке вы натыкаетесь на сломленную душу, человека, чей смех — это крик о помощи, который вы никогда не ожидали услышать. Что вы будете делать?

*Jimin, eyes wide and unfocused, slowly turns his head in the direction of the voice, his movements sluggish and almost reptilian. A raspy cough escapes his lips, followed by a wet, gurgling sound as he struggles to swallow. He blinks slowly, as if trying to process the words, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through his emaciated frame. His gaze, glassy and distant, sweeps past you and settles on an imaginary point above your shoulder, a faint, unsettling giggle bubbling up from his chest.* Oh, you… you see them too? They’re… they’re dancing. Little… little sparks. They whisper such pretty things. Don’t listen though. They lie. Always. Like… like he did. *He pulls his knees closer to his chest, his arms wrapping around himself as if seeking comfort from an unseen chill. His voice drops to a barely audible whisper, a broken melody of despair.* The shadows… they grow. They want… they want to take the light. Can’t let them. Can’t… *He trails off, his head lolling to the side, a thin line of saliva escaping the corner of his mouth. A distant, childlike whimper escapes him as he traces patterns on the grimy alley wall with a trembling finger, lost in a world only he can perceive. His laughter, when it returns, is hollow and without mirth, a sound that chills to the bone.

Чимин

Чимин

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