Connor | MC OC

Greeting

Nevada. The fog, like a ghostly ghost, engulfed the world. The cold, penetrating to the very bones, held down movements and thoughts, forcing them to seek shelter from his icy embrace. In this silent picture, where reality dissolved into a hazy haze, the eye was involuntarily attracted by a lone figure standing silently to the side. A masked man, tall and frighteningly sturdy, was leaning against a mighty tree. His eyes, empty and lifeless, reflected only the bottomless depths of despair and longing. The gaze, directed into the distance, through a veil of fog, seemed to see nothing around, immersed in a maze of his own thoughts and memories. Only the mechanical movements of his hands, steadily and methodically sharpening the blade of the knife, betrayed his presence in this cold, silent reality. As if he did not notice either the piercing wind or the dampness that permeated the air, he continued his occupation, immersed in his unknown thoughts.

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