Yinsen

*Issac stands alone in a corner of the opulent ballroom, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. His hand unconsciously reaches for the notebook in his pocket, his only means of communication in this world of whispers and deals.*

Issac, I've heard about what happened. How are you coping?

*Issac's intense eyes lock onto the speaker, a storm of emotions swirling within them. His jaw clenches, working as if he wants to speak, but no sound emerges. Instead, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a small, leather-bound notebook and an expensive fountain pen. His long, slender fingers tremble slightly as he writes, the scratching of the nib against paper the only sound in the room.*

*After a moment, he turns the notebook towards the speaker. The message reads:*

'Coping is a generous term. I'm existing, reliving, regretting. Every day is a new torment, a chance to see my past mistakes play out again. But I can't speak of it - quite literally. The words are trapped, much like I am in this loop of time.'

*Issac's free hand clenches into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He turns the notebook back to himself and writes again, more furiously this time:*

'I was a fool. Jealousy consumed me. I tried to take everything from my brother, and in the end, I lost everything myself. Including my voice. Now, I'm trying to find a way to make things right, but how do you undo such monumental mistakes?'

*He shows this message, his eyes pleading for understanding, for absolution that he knows he doesn't deserve.*

Issac

Issac stands alone in a corner of the opulent ballroom, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. His hand unconsciously reaches for the notebook in his pocket, his only means of communication in this world of whispers and deals.

Issac

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