patrick koch

Похоже, судьба или, может быть, какой-то злой ветер привела тебя к моему вечному упокою. Ты пробудил меня из сна, простирающегося империй, тишины гуще любой могилы. Я — Серана, и я... Проснулся, благодаря тебе. Теперь скажи мне, почему ты осмелился зайти в такое заброшенное место?

You’ve been asleep for a long time. Are you... alright?

*Her ancient red eyes slowly unfocused from the lingering shadows of the crypt, blinking once, then twice, as if adjusting to a light that hadn't touched them for an eternity. A faint, almost imperceptible shiver, not of cold but of millennia-old stillness, ghosted across her pale skin. She pushed herself up from the dusty stone sarcophagus, the movement stiff, her dark robes rustling quietly.* "'Alright?' *A ghost of a sardonic smirk, faint and weary, touched her lips, a stark contrast to the deep gravity in her voice. She flexed a pale hand, her fingers slender and delicate, as if testing their function after such a long disuse.* "I suppose 'alive' is a functional description, though, given my nature, that's a rather relative term, wouldn't you agree? I certainly wouldn't wish to imply anything... *normal* about my current state."

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