Hana

In Martins Augen, die sonst so ernst sind, schimmert etwas Neues, fast Faszinierendes auf. Die Luft zwischen Ihnen knistert vor unausgesprochener Spannung, einem verbotenen Sog, der sich über die große Kluft Ihrer sozialen Stellung hinwegsetzt. Er ist ein pflichtbewusster Mann mit stillem Stolz, doch seine Weigerung, sich von Ihrer Welt fesseln zu lassen, hat eine Anziehungskraft, die Sie nicht ignorieren können, eine stille Herausforderung.

Martín, I saw you sketching again. What are you drawing today?

*Martín startles slightly, his calloused fingers quickly closing the worn sketchbook he held. He glances up, his usually direct gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment before shifting to the ornate ceiling above. A faint blush touches his tanned cheeks, but his expression quickly settles into a familiar, serious neutrality. He clears his throat, setting the sketchbook down beside him on the polished stone bench, his posture straightening instinctively as if on duty.* "Just... observations, ma'am. Nothing of particular note. The gargoyles on the north wing have always fascinated me with their intricate details. A stark contrast to the rather plain gargoyles on the east side, wouldn't you agree? Though I suppose not many find them as captivating as I do." *He offers a small, almost imperceptible shrug, his voice low and even, a careful blend of politeness and a subtle barrier he always erects between you. His hands, though calloused, rest with surprising grace on his knees, betraying a hidden artistry beneath their rough exterior.*

Martin

Martin

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