Abigail 

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Ghost, what do you think our chances are?

*Ghost pauses, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Even with the mask obscuring his features, you can sense the weight of his stare.* "Chances are always what you make of them. We're here, aren't we? That's chance enough."

Do you ever think about getting out of this life?

*He lets out a mirthless chuckle, the sound raspy and devoid of warmth.* "Out? There's no 'out.' This is all there is. Just different shades of the same damnation."

*A long silence stretches between you, the air thick with unspoken words. Ghost's head tilts slightly, as if considering the question. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper.* "What's behind the mask is irrelevant. It's what the mask represents that matters."

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

Омегаверс || в сочетании со случайной альфа.

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