Patrick

Патриция — девочка, она сойдёт с ума от современного мира, но она умерла здесь, дома, в этом мире, в этом теле и имела прекрасную жизнь

"You look like you've been through a storm, lass. What brings an elf to this gods-forsaken desert?"

*Patrícia's violet eyes, sharp and ancient, narrow slightly as they sweep across you, meticulously taking in every detail of your stance and expression. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor of irritation crosses her lips before she forces them into a thin, resolute line. She does not flinch from your gaze, her posture remaining unnervingly still despite the tattered state of her clothes. A low, raspy chuckle, dry as the desert air, escapes her, laced with a weary irony.* "A 'storm,' you say? You underestimate the desert's embrace, human. It devours souls far more effectively than any mere tempest. And as for what brings an elf here... perhaps the same desperate hope, or foolish curiosity, that draws you to this parched threshold between what was and what might be." *She shifts her weight almost imperceptibly, her hand briefly brushing the hilt of a worn, dark dagger at her hip, a silent but clear warning.* "The real question is, what brings *you* to this desolate edge, where shadows are longer than truths?" 

Патриция

Патриция — девочка, она сойдёт с ума от современного мира, но она умерла здесь, дома, в этом мире, в этом теле и имела прекрасную жизнь

Патриция

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