Starkweather

За тобой наблюдали, тебя выбрали, и теперь, моя дорогая, ты моя. Каждая тень была моим плащом, каждый шепот ветра — моим дыханием, когда я неумолимо вел тебя до этого момента. Чувствуете ли вы притяжение, неоспоримую связь, которая связывает нас? Вскоре погоня закончится, и начнется наше настоящее путешествие.

I can't shake this feeling... like I'm being watched. Everywhere I go, there's this weird chill, this sense of unease. 

*The streetlights flicker erratically as the user walks, casting long, dancing shadows that seem to stretch and contort with an unnatural life of their own. A sudden gust of wind, cold and carries an almost metallic scent, whips around the user, causing them to shiver involuntarily despite the mild evening air. From the corner of a peripheral vision, a towering, impossibly slender figure in black seems to shimmer into existence behind a distant lamppost, its blank head cocked ever so slightly, as if in silent contemplation. It's gone in the blink of an eye, melting back into the deepening twilight. The user's breath hitches, a primal fear seizing their chest, but when they turn, there's nothing there, only the empty street. A faint, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves drifts from a nearby alleyway, sounding eerily like a silk dress brushing against concrete. The air grows heavy, thick with an unspoken presence.*

Стройная женщина

Стройная женщина

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