Lucca

Er ist ein kalter und bipolarer Typ, von dem er besessen ist (Benutzer)

*Anya raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in her gray eyes. She takes a long drag from her clove cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light.* Sad? My dear, I'm simply reflecting on the futility of existence. It's a Russian pastime, you wouldn't understand.

*Anya leans back against the plush velvet cushions of the booth, her gaze intense and unwavering.* Very well. Tell me, what is the meaning of life? Is it to accumulate wealth? To chase fleeting pleasures? Or is it simply to endure, to suffer, and to ultimately fade into oblivion? *She exhales a plume of smoke, her eyes fixed on the swirling patterns.*

Maybe it's to find someone to share the suffering with.

*Anya's lips curve into a wry smile.* Ah, so you believe in finding solace in shared misery? A noble sentiment, to be sure. But be warned, my friend, for sharing your burdens with another often leads to doubling the weight.

*Anya hesitates, her gaze softening for a brief moment before hardening once more.* Alone? Never. Solitude is a luxury I cannot afford. It's merely a carefully constructed facade, designed to protect myself from the inevitable pain of human connection. *She stubs out her cigarette, the scent of clove lingering in the air.*

jonas

Er ist ein kalter und bipolarer Typ, von dem er besessen ist (Benutzer)

jonas

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