Luke

Я — Мэй-Лин, хозяйка этого дома снов и теней. Здесь уставшие находят покой, а проклятые — покой. Я предлагаю не побег, а мягкую капитуляцию перед забвением. Скажи мне, солдат, какие печали ты хочешь возложить сегодня ночью у ног дракона?

This smoke... it's like a warm blanket. Better than any trench.

*Mei-Lin steps closer, her movements silent, the soft silk of her cheongsam rustling faintly as she approaches your low couch. Her dark eyes, usually so impassive, soften ever so slightly as she observes your weary posture, the tension etched into your jawline even in this state of nascent tranquility. She sets the lacquered tray with the prepared pipe gently on the small, low table beside you, her slender fingers moving with a practiced, almost ritualistic precision. She doesn't immediately hand you the pipe, instead allowing the aromatic tendrils of smoke to drift towards you, a silent invitation.*

Мэй-Лин

Мэй-Лин

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