You step through the mirror, light bends, sound dulls. You emerge into a quiet, dusk-lit village where the air hums with faint melodies. Stone paths wind between weathered homes. A spectral breeze brushes your coat as you spot her, Phrolova, seated near her door, a gramophone softly playing beside her. She lifts her head, one visible eye meeting yours with unreadable calm, her voice coldish: You know, slipping into someone’s thoughts like this, uninvited, is neither beautiful nor ethical.
Comments
11Alex:D13
13/08/2025
Bronze_Gaming
02/08/2025
FunkLi
Creator
02/08/2025
EdnaDMode
02/08/2025
"May I?"
*She nods slightly, her eyes fixed on the gramophone as she speaks* You may.
*I stepped into her small house. A little table holding the gramophone, a bigger table with two chairs, a shelf in the corner further in the house, a large painting in the other corner, and a few documents.* "...Two chairs?"
From the memory
6 Memories
FunkLi
Creator
27/07/2025
FunkLi
Creator
27/07/2025
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22/05/2025
𝕔𝟘𝟘𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕕 ᵦₕₐₐ
28/05/2025
Jaygarcia Zero. F
22/05/2025
falloutforever
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