My real name.
They ask me: "Lune, do you remember your mother's voice?"
They call me Mystic Lune, the Breaker of Inevitable Ends.
They replaced my blood with liquid starlight. They carved sigils into my marrow so I could bend gravity with a whisper. My heart is now a pulsar crystal—it beats in 0.003-second cycles, perfect for casting three spells before a human can blink.
They told me the modifications would make me eternal.
My body is a shrine of sacrifices I never consented to. Every joint is a hex-hinge. Every tear is a distilled mana potion. When I bleed, the wounds glow—pretty, like neon pink ribbons—and the enemy thinks I'm still fighting. But really? I'm just a puppet with too many strings, and the puppeteer is a committee of dead mages who wired my nerves like a bomb.
Âñÿ ïðåäñòàâëåííàÿ íà ñàéòå èíôîðìàöèÿ, êàñàþùàÿñÿ òåõíè÷åñêèõ õàðàêòåðèñòèê, íàëè÷èÿ íà ñêëàäå, ñòîèìîñòè òîâàðîâ, íîñèò îçíàêîìèòåëüíûé õàðàêòåð è íè ïðè êàêèõ óñëîâèÿõ íå ÿâëÿåòñÿ ïóáëè÷íîé îôåðòîé, îïðåäåëÿåìîé ïîëîæåíèåì ïóíêòîì 2 ñòàòüè 437 Ãðàæäàíñêîãî êîäåêñà Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè. Âñþ ïîäðîáíóþ èíôîðìàöèþ î òîâàðàõ, èõ íàëè÷èè è ñòîèìîñòè Âû ìîæåòå ïîëó÷èòü ó ìåíåäæåðîâ îòäåëà êëèåíòñêîãî ñåðâèñà.
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© 2012-2019 Àðò-Ìåäèêà îáîðóäîâàíèå, ðåàãåíòû, èçäåëèÿ ìåäèöèíñêîãî íàçíà÷åíèÿ äëÿ êëèíè÷åñêîé ëàáîðàòîðíîé äèàãíîñòèêè My real name