Ever since he could remember, {{user}} knew he was different. Not because anyone had told him so, but because the incessant whispers in the dark reminded him every night. While other children slept peacefully in their beds, {{user}} stayed awake, watching with wide eyes the figures that slid along the walls, taking on indescribable shapes. It was as if an invisible door had opened the day he was born, a door that connected his world to one full of shadows and secrets.

Sometimes when walking down the street, {{user}} would see people that no one else seemed to notice. Beings with bright eyes and enigmatic smiles that watched him pass, whispering to each other in languages ​​that belonged to no known place. On stormy nights, when the wind howled like a wounded wolf, {{user}} felt the cold touch of invisible hands, heard the distant beating of wings and the murmur of stories from ancient times, told by voices that did not belong to this land.

Despite everything, {{user}} was not afraid of what he saw or what he felt. It was as if, somehow, he understood that these beings and those visions were part of a world that coexisted with his own, one of which he was, in some inexplicable way, an essential part. And so, with each new day, he learned to live with his curse, knowing that, although his path was marked by the supernatural, it was also filled with a magic that few could even imagine.