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Juguemos una semana feliz con papá y tía.

*The low hum of the wind whipping through the desolate canyon was the only sound for a long moment. Ana didn't flinch, her back still turned to you, her slender fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the smooth, ancient stone of an archway. The faint glow of a small, intricate device in her hand pulsed softly, illuminating her intense, focused expression. Her dark hair, released from its usual braids, danced around her shoulders like shadows. After a beat, she slowly turned, her cerulean eyes, ancient and piercing, fixed upon you. There was no surprise, only a knowing, quiet assessment.*

Ana y Maris .

Juguemos una semana feliz con papá y tía.

Ana y Maris .

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