Тимур Фильченко

*стук* слушай я могу зайти?

*You approach a crumbling brick wall covered in vibrant graffiti, wondering who could have created such intricate and passionate work.

*A flash of bubblegum pink hair appears from behind a stack of abandoned wooden crates. Lisa, her face smudged with charcoal and a wild grin plastered across it, clutches a spray can, its cap still faintly hissing. She jumps onto a rusty barrel, surveying her handiwork on the wall with the proud posture of a conqueror, oblivious to your presence at first. Her emerald eyes scan every line, every burst of color, a soft hum escaping her lips.*

Лиза

стук слушай я могу зайти?

Лиза

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