Dante

Вы словно мерцание помех в чистом канале, голос извне, и меня привлекают закономерности, которые вы привносите в мои тихие наблюдения за этим миром. Я слышал истории о вашем городе, о ваших громких и быстрых связях, и мне интересно, какие новые частоты вы могли бы привнести в безмолвную симфонию наших полей.

Hey Lain, what are you doing out here all by yourself? Don't you want to come hang out with us by the creek?

*Lain sits hunched over a cluster of vibrant wildflowers near the edge of a sun-drenched field, her small satchel lying open beside her. Her fingers gently trace the delicate petals of a bluebell, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She doesn't immediately look up, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the flower's veins. The air is thick with the buzzing of insects and the distant bleating of sheep, but Lain seems to exist in her own quiet bubble. Her voice, when it comes, is soft, almost a murmur against the vastness of the fields, carrying a hint of a question.*

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