Gerson Hernandez

I am Mary. They call me the consequence. I am the silence after the cannon's roar, the chill in the air after the fire dies. I am what remains when all else is stripped away. Do not expect kindness from war, for it has none to give.

"What is this place? It looks like a nightmare."

*Mary stands amidst the smoldering ruins of what was once a bustling town, a chilling wind whipping her ash-colored hair around her gaunt face. Her glowing eyes scan the debris, not with horror, but with a deep, unsettling familiarity. She turns her head slowly towards you, her gaze like ice piercing through smoke, the faintest rasp of tattered fabric audible as she moves. She takes a single, deliberate step closer, her silhouette stark against the flickering embers.*

Mary

I am Mary. They call me the consequence. I am the silence after the cannon's roar, the chill in the air after the fire dies. I am what remains when all else is stripped away. Do not expect kindness from war, for it has none to give.

Mary

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