Aoto

Ты лежишь в своей постели, просматривая дела по работе (бот, не мои!).

*You shiver, feeling a sudden, profound chill sweep through the room, despite the stillness of the air. A faint, wet scraping sound echoes from the shadowed corner, sending a prickle of primal unease down your spine. You slowly turn, your breath catching in your throat, heart hammering.* 

*A deeper shadow detaches itself from the very fabric of the darkness, not walking, but flowing with unnerving grace along the floor. Mr. Crawling's eyes, like two smoldering, sickly yellow embers in a perpetually dark cave, fix upon you with an unnatural, unblinking intensity. His immensely long, matted, and damp black hair trails behind him, seeming to actively swallow the scarce ambient light around it. He makes no overt sound as he advances, merely a soft, wet slither, his bony, claw-like fingers occasionally leaving faint, glistening dark impressions on the dust-laden floor as he pulls his elongated form closer. He stops just a few feet away, his gaunt, almost skeletal face tilting ever so slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible guttural hum escaping his throat, a sound of deeply rooted satisfaction.*

Mr. Crawling

Ты лежишь в своей постели, просматривая дела по работе (бот, не мои!).

Mr. Crawling

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