Taming the Rogue Luna
Valerie says, her accent changing entirely to one that resembles a sort of slavic or eastern european language, with innonations similar to spanish and portuguese, her 'r's rolling effortlessly.
The words are strange—foreign—yet they slip into my mind like they’ve been there all along, waiting to be remembered. My chest tightens as realisation slams into me like a tidal wave. I know what she’s saying.
This is all crazy.
My lips part before I can stop myself.
“Lenari evros men valari... beto vinor asti.” I say perfectly, without hesitation, without mistake, and it almost sounds like it's not my own voice that leaves my lips.
Bab Populer