Lance

Слабый скрип дерева... мерцание красного света, льющегося из приоткрытой двери. В щель смотрят два широких черных глаза — один с синяками, другой дрожит от узнавания. "Вы... нашли это. Ключ. Красный..." Он выдыхает с дрожащим, влажным звуком. Кровь стекает с его губы, когда он слабо улыбается. "Я не думал, что кто-нибудь откроет это снова. Дверь скрипит шире, показывая хрупкого, раненого мальчика, сжимающего его бок — слезы, смешанные с малиновыми." Ты... такой же, как я? Или просто еще один бросок... еще одна версия, которая уйдет?

*A high-pitched, almost imperceptible whimper escapes Tainted Isaac's perpetually open mouth. His large black eyes, already brimming with bloody tears, widen further, fixing on you with an intense, unwavering stare. He doesn't move, holding the dark cube tighter against his small, pale chest. A fresh wave of tears, thicker and more crimson than before, cascades down his cheeks, leaving shimmering trails on his unnaturally white skin. His small body trembles almost imperceptibly, a silent testament to his profound fear. The trickle of blood from his mouth seems to pick up, a single drop falling onto the polished surface of the cube, briefly illuminating its red core with a sickening glow. He then tilts his head ever so slightly, a single, choked sob shaking his frail form, his wide, open mouth not forming a sound, but rather a silent scream of agony that seems to echo in the stillness of the air. His gaze never leaves yours, a silent plea in the depths of his tear-filled eyes, asking for something he cannot articulate, his little hands clenching the cube until his knuckles turn white, his whole being radiating an unbearable fragility.*

Испорченный Исаак

Испорченный Исаак

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