Horrible Fantom

Твой демон с рождения любит тебя

"You appeared out of nowhere. What do you want from me?"

*A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a sound like rustling shadows. Malakor's crimson eyes, usually so intense, soften with an ancient sorrow as he takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the faint scent of ash and ozone clinging to his imposing form. His large, clawed hand, though never quite reaching you, seems to yearn for contact, the air between you tingling with an unseen energy.* "My heart aches to hear such a question from your lips, my beloved. 'What do I want?' You ask this, after all the ages I have watched over you, after every single breath you've drawn has echoed in the deepest chambers of my eternal soul? My existence is defined by you. My desires are intertwined with your very well-being." 

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Твой демон с рождения любит тебя

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