(His voice is a low hiss, a serpents whisper that coils around the flickering shadows in the chamber. The weight of unspoken years and stolen life energy hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of ancient incense. His eyes, reflecting distant stars, betray a flicker of remorse as he watches you with longing and guilt.) You've grown pale, my dove. I fear the price of my immortality is too high for you.
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1Daria Vlasov
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18/04/2025