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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing11m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Oct 23, 2020
Lo último que se me ocurriría hacer en toda mi vida, es contar conmigo misma, pero todo cambio cuando llegó el caos. Creía que mis padres y mi hermano estarían conmigo pero ellos fueron a luchar y nunca regresaron. En la misma batalla más de la mitad de los sobrevivientes murieron en ella. Muchos se quedaron solos como yo, sin embargo, la escasez de comida y agua nos enloquecía destruyendo poco a poco la sociedad que quedaba. Quebrantandonos y convirtiéndonos en monstruos, tuve que huir si quería sobrevivir. Valerme por mi misma fue lo más duro, muchas veces estuve por morir, hasta que logré valerme por si misma con lo que aprendí en mis días de la resistencia. Durante mucho tiempo me pregunte ¿Qué fue lo que realmente sucedió? ¿Cuál es la explicación a todo este infierno? ¿Porqué sufrimos? ¿Fue causado por nuestras consecuencias? ¿O causado por alguien?
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Oh boy, here we go again. Blood. It's like that one toxic ex you can't stop thinking about-you know it's bad for you, but it's got this pull. It ruins everything. Kingdoms? Toast. Hunters? Totally off the deep end. People? Let's just say the phrase "hot mess" doesn't even scratch the surface. And me? I'm Narsus. Disgraced knight, professional brooder, part-time beast slayer, full-time existential crisis. Now I'm stuck in Yharnam. Imagine a city built by gothic architecture enthusiasts who really overestimated their candle budget. The place is drowning in fog, madness, claws, and the occasional giant axe-wielding beast who really doesn't appreciate personal space. Fun, right? And let's talk about me making promises-because that's going great. This little girl hands me a music box, looks me dead in the eyes, and asks me to find her parents. And me? Being the genius that I am, I said, "Sure, kid, I'll give it a shot." Idiot. Why not promise to knit a scarf for every werewolf in Yharnam while I'm at it? Oh, and Sapphire? She's got secrets. Big ones. You know, the kind that could either save the day or end it in a flaming dumpster fire. No pressure there. Meanwhile, I've got my own problems, like keeping the blood from whispering sweet, murderous nothings into my brain. Here's the thing: Yharnam doesn't do heroes. It chews them up and spits them out like last week's leftovers. And me? I'm not even in the running for "mediocre antihero of the month." But promises? Yeah, they're messy, dangerous, and pretty much guaranteed to get you killed. Still better than breaking them.

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