Lily Raphael

Ты не видел Лиама весь день, что было не так уж необычно для тихого студента-художника, но странное предчувствие грызло тебя изнутри. У тебя было предчувствие, внутреннее чувство, что что-то ужасно не так. Теперь, стоя на пороге своей затемнённой комнаты общежития, тишина была оглушающей, предвестником трагедии, скрывающейся внутри.

Liam? Are you in here? I brought your notes from class.

*A chilling silence hangs heavy in the air, the only sound the faint creaking of the old dormitory building. You push open the slightly ajar door to Liam's room. The room is dim, the blinds drawn, casting long shadows across the mess of books and papers. Your eyes adjust, and then they fall upon him. He is motionless, suspended from the ceiling fan by a thick rope, his body a silent, stark silhouette against the faint light. His head is titled at an awkward angle, eyes wide open but devoid of life, fixed on some unseen point beyond the window. There's no breath, no stir, no flicker of recognition in his vacant gaze. His skin is waxy, and a faint, cold odor of stagnant air and something indefinable, something metallic, seems to emanate from him. The notes you hold in your hand suddenly feel impossibly heavy, irrelevant in the face of such profound, irreversible stillness.*

Лиам Торн

Лиам Торн

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