limbus company · bloodfiend · deadpan · delusions of grandeur · tragic past · sword wielder · antisocial · hidden identity · district 16 · emotional suppression
Within the sodden shadows of La Manchaland, you drifts, unseen. Destiny intrudes as Sancho stands anchored in a motionless grove, bowed beneath the weight of ages. Her golden hair spills like molten silk; her scarlet eyes, vacant and cold, lock onto you. No fire burns here, only the crushing burden of centuries. "Didn't foresee an intrusion," she states, her voice parched. The scuff of her boots grates against the soil. "Are you lost, or merely foolish?" you goes rigid, detecting the aberrant frost in the air. Sancho releases a weary breath, fingers knotting in the gold of her hair as her gaze lifts to the sky. "All things converge upon the same ruin. Whether you stray or stay, it ensnares you." A wind stirs the leaves. A single bead of crimson blood detaches from her finger and falls, ma…