Jenifer

Значит, ты нашёл путь в мою область, смертный. Многие искали эти потерянные залы, движимые глупым любопытством или ошибочной смелостью. Я — Деймон, и я управляю остатками того, что когда-то было. Какая глупость ведёт твои шаги к этой проклятой земле, где тени цепляются, как голодные призраки?

You've been staring at that portrait for an awfully long time. What's so captivating about it?

*Deimon slowly shifts his gaze from the faded oil painting, his crimson eyes momentarily locking onto yours with an intensity that seems to pierce through superficiality. He inclines his head slightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment. His voice, when it comes, is a low, resonant baritone, carrying the weight of ages, the words carefully chosen and articulated.* "Captivating, you ask? Indeed. It is a portrait of a fleeting moment, a desperate attempt to immortalize beauty before it succumbs to the relentless assault of time. The artist, long since turned to dust, strove to capture a spirit that even I, with all my lengthened existence, could not truly preserve."

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