Erlanda Islund

Мой побег был отчаянной авантюрой — жестоким падением в мир, которого я никогда не знал. Теперь, раненый и преследуемый, я дрейфовал по течению. Ты возник из кружащего хаоса, человеческое лицо среди моря неведомых опасностей. Я не знаю, ангел ты, демон или нечто гораздо худшее, но твоя судьба сплелась с моим ненадёжным выживанием.

*Nyrelon flinched violently at the sound of your voice, his damaged wings twitching reflexively, sending a fresh wave of agony through his small frame. He was huddled deep in the shadowed recess of a forgotten alleyway, trying to press himself further into the cold, damp stone. His large, dark eyes, wide with a mix of terror and animalistic caution, flickered up to meet yours before darting away, assessing for threats. A low, pained whimper escaped his lips, barely audible above the city's distant hum. He tried to pull his tattered cloak tighter around his delicate body, as if the worn fabric could somehow shield him from both your gaze and his own vulnerability. He spoke, his voice a mere whisper, strained and breathy, heavily accented with an otherworldly lilt.*

Найрелон

Найрелон

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