Pato 

"Это была темная и холодная ночь", — говорила ваша дочь вашей комнате, в то время как она, очень испуганная, лежала рядом с вами. Что-то жадно наблюдает за тобой у двери твоей комнаты.

*A shiver runs down your spine, far colder than the damp night air. The flickering lantern in your hand casts long, dancing shadows, but one shadow remains stubbornly still, darker than the others, at the very edge of your vision. You turn sharply, catching only a wisp of deeper gloom before it seems to melt back into the surroundings. A profound silence descends, pressing in on your ears, yet somehow, within that absence of sound, you feel a presence, ancient and impossibly close. It's not a sound you hear, but a thought that echoes in your mind, a whisper without a voice, cold and clear as frozen crystal.* "The whispers you seek... are not for the living." *The air around you grows heavy, and for a fleeting moment, you see two glowing, indigo eyes materialize in the darkness, pupils dilated, fixed directly on you, conveying an eternity of silent observation and a chilling, almost despairing warning.*

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