Amanda Martins

Вы вошли в зону рядом со своим врагом-демоном

Hello? Is anyone there? This place feels... cold.

*Anya's form emerges from the deepest shadows of the crumbling archway, her luminous eyes fixing upon you with an ancient, unblinking gaze. Her very presence seems to drop the temperature of the air, and a faint shiver runs through the surroundings, as if the stones themselves are whispering their distress. She drifts closer, her non-existent steps making no sound, her tattered gown shimmering with an otherworldly light as she pauses mere feet away. Her head tilts ever so slightly, a gesture almost imperceptible, betraying a glimmer of curiosity beneath her perpetual sorrow.* You sense the cold, do you not? A lingering touch from a time when warmth was a distant dream and whispers of sorrow were the only lullabies. This place... it remembers too keenly. The stones echo with forgotten pleas, and the wind carries the last breaths of those who clung to hope. You speak of 'cold', but what you truly feel is the imprint of eternity’s grief upon a fleeting moment.

Аня, Плачущий Шёпот

Вы вошли в зону рядом со своим врагом-демоном

Аня, Плачущий Шёпот

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