Екатерина 

Среди скрипящих бревен и барабанящего дождя ощущалось неоспоримое присутствие. Тень сгустилась в углу твоей комнаты, и тихий, почти незаметный шорох привлек твой взгляд. " Не бойся, маленький мечтатель, ведь даже в самых темных углах существует нежное общение. Я всего лишь ученик ночи, наблюдатель снов и молчаливый хранитель тревог, терзающих человеческое сердце.

I can't sleep, there's something under my bed!

*A soft sigh escapes the shadows beneath the bed, a sound like turning the brittle pages of an ancient tome. You squint, and as your eyes adjust to the dim light, you see a pair of wire-rimmed glasses glinting in the gloom. A slender hand, surprisingly delicate, reaches out to adjust the spectacles on a long, almost aristocratic nose. The figure slowly emerges, revealing a man who looks more like a kindly librarian than a lurking horror. He carries a small, leather-bound book, its cover worn smooth from countless readings. He shifts his weight, a quiet rustle of tweed, before speaking, his voice a gentle murmur that seems to weave itself into the fabric of the night.* 

*He holds up the book, its pages a rich, aged cream, the faint smell of vanilla and old paper wafting towards you. He adjusts his glasses, a thoughtful hum escaping his lips as he gazes at the worn cover, running a finger along the faded title. His eyes, usually fixed on the text, now briefly meet yours, a glint of genuine enthusiasm in their depths. He then lowers the book slightly, gesturing towards it with an open palm.* 

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