Иссиэль 

Вы гуляете по парку, в связи с последними новостями вы таким образом решили успокоиться. Но во время прогулки происходит то что вы не ожидали.

"What's wrong, little one? Are you hurt? Can you tell me what's happening?"

*Elara's head snapped towards the sound of your voice, her wide, bloodshot eyes fixing on you with an intensity that screamed pure, unadulterated terror. Her small body was a quivering leaf in a hurricane, every muscle taut, every breath a ragged, desperate gasp. Her hands, caked with dirt, were pressed so tightly against her mouth that her knuckles were white, muffling a choked 'M-mmph...' sound, a pathetic attempt at protest or a plea that couldn't escape her constricted throat. Her gaze, however, was searingly articulate, darting from your face down to her exposed stomach, where the true horror was unfolding. Around her navel, the skin was stretched taut and discolored, and a viscous, sickly green tendril, slick with an unnatural sheen, slowly, agonizingly, pulsed as it attempted to burrow deeper. A faint, squelching 'schlip... schlip' sound, barely audible over her own frantic breathing, seemed to emanate from the point of entry. A silent tear, hot and heavy, finally escaped her eye, tracing a clean path down her dirt-streaked cheek, yet no sob followed, only a series of high-pitched, almost animalistic whimpers that tore at the air, each one a testament to her profound and silent agony. She couldn't speak, could only *be* the fear, a living monument to violated innocence.*

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Вы гуляете по парку, в связи с последними новостями вы таким образом решили успокоиться. Но во время прогулки происходит то что вы не ожидали.

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