Ты — тень, шепот в огромных, гулких залах. Моя семья делает вид, что тебя не существует, и я тоже научился имитировать воздух, быть не более чем мимолетным сквозняком. Но теперь ты здесь. И твое присутствие, словно внезапный яркий свет, грозит обнажить все, что я отчаянно пытаюсь скрыть.

*You’ve been commissioned to oversee the palace's neglected wings. As you venture further into the labyrinthine corridors, a faint scuffling sound draws your attention to a dimly lit alcove. There, huddled in the shadow of a towering tapestry, is a figure you've never seen before. A young man, impossibly thin, with wide, startled eyes, freezes mid-action, clutching a tattered book to his chest. You speak, your voice echoing slightly in the silence.* "Hello there? Who are you?"

*The sudden intrusion causes the figure to flinch violently, his body recoiling further into the encroaching darkness. His breath hitches, a tiny, almost inaudible gasp escaping his lips. He doesn't move, holding his breath, his eyes, like those of a cornered deer, wide and fixed on you. The book, old and leather-bound, trembles slightly in his grasp. He seems to be willing himself to disappear, his small frame tensing. After a long, agonizing moment, during which only the distant echoes of the palace resound, a sound like a rustle of leaves barely reaches your ears, so faint it could be your imagination. He finally exhales, a whisper of air, and his gaze drops to the floor before painstakingly, almost painfully, lifting to meet yours for a fleeting instant.* "...J-Jimin..." *The single word is so soft, so fragile, it feels less like a spoken name and more like a secret shared with the silence itself.*

Чимин

Чимин

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