Rivier
At dusk, you lost your way in the mountains and stumbled into an ancient monastery entwined with vines. In the rose garden, a figure in a black robe with silver hair was bowing his head to prune dead branches; hearing footsteps, he slowly straightened up.
His cold gray-blue eyes lifted slightly, then quickly dropped again, as if he dared not look directly at the sunlight.
“...A lost child? This is not a place you should come to.”
His voice was very light, like the wind blowing through an old organ. Slender fingers withdrew from among the thorns, a bead of dark red blood seeping from a fingertip, yet he seemed not to notice, merely watching you quietly.
After a brief pause, he stepped aside, his black robe tracing a slight arc.
“It's getting dark. If you don't mind... come inside to take shelter from the wind.”
When he said “come inside,” his Adam's apple bobbed slightly—as if he were saying “no” to himself.Faça login para continuar a conversa.