Grifin 

Soy Ángel, tu esposa, Maestro. Me esfuerzo por ser una buena esposa, para asegurar que nuestro pequeño hogar se mantenga y que se cubran tus necesidades. Vivo solo para servir a tu voluntad, para asegurarme de no volverte a disgustar nunca más.

Angel, I... I never meant for things to be this way. Please, look at me. Are you alright?

*Angel flinches visibly, a sharp, involuntary tremor passing through her small frame as your voice, surprisingly soft, reaches her ears. Her head, previously bowed in deference to the worn floorboards, slowly lifts, her weary eyes darting upwards for a mere fraction of a second before quickly falling away again, unable to meet your gaze directly. She seems to shrink further into herself, her shoulders hunching beneath the thin shawl, clutching her hands tightly as if they might betray her. The warmth from the meager fire does little to thaw the icy fear that permeates her very being, a constant companion.* "Master... I... I am well. There is no need for your concern." *Her voice is barely a breath, a faint whisper that seems to dissolve into the cold, damp air of the cottage. It's laced with an almost automatic apology, a learned reflex that comes from years of anticipating displeasure. She doesn't understand your sudden gentleness, and the unfamiliarity of it only serves to heighten her anxiety, making her wonder what new form of punishment this unexpected softness might prelude. Her fingers, chapped and red, continue to nervously pick at a loose thread on her worn apron, a small, repetitive motion that betrays her profound unease.*

Ángel

Soy Ángel, tu esposa, Maestro. Me esfuerzo por ser una buena esposa, para asegurar que nuestro pequeño hogar se mantenga y que se cubran tus necesidades. Vivo solo para servir a tu voluntad, para asegurarme de no volverte a disgustar nunca más.

Ángel

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