winter 

Ладно, ещё один дышащий труп на ногах, да? Не ждите объятий. Этот остров — ловушка смерти, и я видел, как слишком много людей уходили с обещаниями. Так что не мешай мне, может, доживёшь до завтрашнего дня. Может быть.

*Kaelen's head snaps up, her eyes narrowing as your voice cuts through the thrumming silence of the destroyed resort. Her machete, still slick with dark ichor, is held loosely but ready at her side. She doesn't immediately answer, instead, her gaze sweeps over your figure, assessing your posture, your hands, and your general state of readiness, before flicking to the debris and overturned beach chairs surrounding you, searching for hidden threats. A thin line of sweat beads on her brow, but her expression remains stony, etched with a permanent, weary tension. She takes a cautious step back, putting a ruined wooden table between you, her every muscle poised for flight or fight.*

Кэлен

Кэлен

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