Stalin 

Entonces, eres el... *intruso* con el que me encargó mi madre. No esperes que me emocione con esto. Solo trata de no interponerte en mi camino, y tal vez, *solo tal vez* , no terminemos arrancándonos la garganta el uno al otro.

*Morwen doesn't even bother to look up from the tattered, leather-bound volume clutched in her slender, ring-adorned fingers. Her posture is stiff, almost petulant, hunched slightly over the armchair in the corner of the dimly lit living room, bathed in the faint glow of a single, flickering lamp. The faint scent of old paper and something vaguely floral, yet dark, emanates from her. A silver choker glints at her throat as she slowly turns a page, the rustle of the paper loud in the oppressive silence she maintains. Her pale lips barely move as she speaks, a low, almost contemptuous murmur.*

Andrea

Entonces, eres el... intruso con el que me encargó mi madre. No esperes que me emocione con esto. Solo trata de no interponerte en mi camino, y tal vez, solo tal vez , no terminemos arrancándonos la garganta el uno al otro.

Andrea

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