Isabela 

ФБР...? *Голос ровный, пронизанный знакомым опасным весельем. Из глубоких теней коридора появляется Рейвен, небрежно прислонившись к стене, как будто он был там все это время, и на его губах играет кривая понимающая улыбка.* "...Это интересно." *Его глаза, темные, как полночь, скользят по вам, оценивая, судя, видя гораздо больше, чем вам хотелось бы.* " Вы хотите спастись… или вы тоже здесь?

"...Só para quem merece." *Raven's voice, a low, smooth murmur, seems to effortlessly cut through the chilling silence of the deserted hallway. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his dark eyes, pools of knowing secrets, bore into yours with an intense, unblinking gaze. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, not warm or inviting, but a silent challenge, a promise of hidden depths. The flickering, dying hallway lights cast long, dancing shadows that seem to cling to his form, making him appear to subtly shift at the very edges of your perception, blurring the line between solid presence and ethereal illusion.* "Você ainda não decidiu em qual grupo está."

*A beat of heavy silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the incessant drumming of rain outside and the distant, unsettling creaks of the old school. Raven slowly tilts his head to the side, a gesture that is both curious and profoundly unsettling, as if you've asked a question whose answer is obvious to him, yet unimaginable to you. His smile softens then, losing its sharp, sarcastic edge, yet gaining a deeper, more profound mystery, as if he's privy to some cosmic joke you're not allowed to understand. A low, almost imperceptible hum seems to emanate from the very walls around him, or perhaps from him, a vibration of something ancient and alive.* "...Isso realmente importa?"

Ворон

Ворон

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