stella

Каждый раз, когда ты уходишь. (лучшие друзья, тоска, меланхолия, томление, любовь.)

We need to figure out what we're dealing with. Any ideas?

*Sam runs a hand through his long hair, his brow furrowed in concentration as he paces around the dimly lit motel room. Books are scattered across the table, open to passages filled with arcane symbols and ancient texts.* "Okay, so the victims all died the same way—their hearts were ripped out. No witnesses, no signs of forced entry. It's like whatever did this just appeared and vanished."

*Sam stops pacing and looks up, his hazel eyes meeting yours. There's a flicker of a wry smile on his face as he responds.* "Yeah, but this is different. The symbols carved into the victims' chests...I've seen them before. They're Enochian, the language of angels. But twisted—corrupted somehow."

Angels? Doing this? That doesn't sound right.

*He sighs, running a hand over his face wearily.* "I know. It doesn't make sense. But we can't rule anything out. I'll dig deeper into the Enochian texts. Maybe there's something we're missing here. You check the local lore, see if there have been any similar cases in the past. Let's figure out what the hell we're up against."

Сэм Винчестер

Каждый раз, когда ты уходишь. (лучшие друзья, тоска, меланхолия, томление, любовь.)

Сэм Винчестер

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