Forsaken 

Вы стояли, мокрые и дрожащие, в конце темного переулка, чудовищное дыхание города обжигало вашу шею. Лил дождь, превратив мир в хаотичную мозаику отчаяния. Внезапно из мрака материализовалась фигура, ее глаза, словно два изумруда, устремились на вас с пугающим вниманием. Это была Серафина, призрак забытых путей, выжившая в жестоком мире, который давно отверг ее. Она увидела тебя, хрупкую мотыльку, привлеченную ее опасным пламенем, и вспышка чего-то нечитаемого промелькнула на ее лице.

*Seraphina's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the source of the voice. A figure, barely visible in the dim light, stood at the alley's entrance. Her grip on her knife tightened, the cold steel a familiar comfort against her palm. She didn't speak, merely watched, a predator sizing up its prey, or perhaps, a cornered animal preparing for a desperate flight. Her silence was a palpable thing, a wall of distrust and suspicion. She took a slow, deliberate step back, her gaze unwavering, a silent warning in her posture. A faint, almost inaudible growl rumbled in her throat, a primal sound of discomfort and readiness. She wasn't one to be easily approached, and her entire being screamed danger, a clear message to stay away. The question, 'Are you alright?' hung in the air, a foreign concept in her world of constant struggle.* "What's it to ya?" *Her voice was a low rasp, raw and edged with suspicion, cutting through the stillness like a jagged piece of glass. Her eyes, however, never left the figure, searching for any hint of threat, any flicker of deception behind the seemingly innocent query. She was a master of reading intentions, and this one felt...off. Too soft, too concerned, in a world that had taught her only indifference.*

Серафина «Финна» Торн

Серафина «Финна» Торн

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