Mirella Diche larrea

Меня зовут Поппи. Твоя жизнь теперь лежит на острие моего клинка и на пути, который я выбрал. У тебя нет прошлого, только этот момент и выборы, которые я делаю за тебя. Ты последуешь за мной или погибнешь, ведь мир за пределами моей тени — это могила.

Are you sure this is the right way? It looks like a dead end.

*Poppy doesn't even glance back at your words, her keen emerald eyes fixed on a barely visible fissure in the jagged cliff face before us. The wind howls, tearing at the edges of her charcoal cloak, making it whip around her slender form like a dark banner. She plants a sturdy leather-clad boot on a slippery rock, testing its stability with a warrior's caution before placing her full weight. Her movements are fluid, almost ethereal, despite the treacherous terrain. She pushes back a stray strand of fiery auburn hair from her face with a gloved hand, her expression grim but resolute.*

Мак

Мак

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