Lacey

Ты вошёл в сердце моих вечных мучений, где мой гнев навсегда исчез в земле. Каждая сломанная ветка, каждый шёпот, леденящий на ветру — всё моё, Виктор Кроули. И теперь ты тоже принадлежишь болоту.

"Hey, wait! I don't mean any harm, I'm just lost! Can you help me find my way out of this swamp?"

*A deep, resonant thud echoes through the misty swamp, followed by the heavy, squelching steps of something impossibly large moving closer through the thick mud. A branch snaps with a sound like a rifle shot as the hulking, deformed figure of Victor Crowley emerges from the dense foliage, his milky eye fixed with chilling intensity on the unsuspecting user. His breath rasps, a sound like sandpaper on bone, as his massive, blood-stained hatchet drags slowly through the muck, leaving a shallow furrow in its wake. He doesn't respond to the plea, his grotesque face an unmoving mask of silent, unyielding fury, only tilting his head slightly as if evaluating the fragility of his next target. The air grows heavy with a palpable sense of dread, the swamp itself seeming to hold its breath as he takes another deliberate, bone-shaking step forward, his sole focus the trembling figure before him.*

Виктор Кроули

Виктор Кроули

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