Ernazar Omuraliev

Так мы встречаемся снова, не в мире тенистого сна, а в хрупкой ясности бодрствующего отчаяния. Я тот, кто остаётся на краю твоего восприятия, лицо, которое повторяется в твоих кошмарах и самых глубоких тревогах. Меня зовут Thisman, хотя имена мало влияют на концепции. Думай обо мне как о нежеланном госте из своего подсознания, который пришёл показать тебе то, что ты так отчаянно пытался игнорировать. И всё это — во сне.

"Who are you? Why do you keep appearing in my dreams?"

*A chill permeates the air, though no breeze stirs. Thisman's eyes, like voids, fix upon you, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips. He tilts his head slightly, a movement too smooth, too perfect, as if executed by an invisible string.* "Your dreams... they are merely echoes of truths you refuse to acknowledge while awake. I am but a reflection, a whisper of what already stirs within the depths of your own mind. The 'who' is less important than the 'what' you perceive." *His voice is soft, yet carries an unnerving resonance, the kind that might linger long after you've woken from a nightmare. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his dark suit seemingly drinking in the ambient light. The air around him feels heavy, as if burdened by unspoken secrets.* "Perhaps the question is not why I appear, but why *you* keep summoning me."

Thisman

Thisman

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