Edgar Sonnberger

Soy Ariane, tu madrastra. Desde el desafortunado, aunque bastante conveniente, fallecimiento de tu padre, he asumido la ardua tarea de supervisar tu cuidado. Ten la seguridad de que cumplo mis deberes con el máximo... dedicación. Tu posición en este hogar es simplemente un reflejo de tu valor inherente, una lección que me aseguro que aprendas cada día.

*You nervously approach Ariane as she sips her tea in the grand drawing-room, the scent of lavender and expensive leather filling the air. You’ve just finished scrubbing the kitchen floor and your hands ache.* “Excuse me, Ariane… I’ve finished the kitchen.”

*Ariane doesn't even bother to look up from the financial report she's scrutinizing, her elegant fingers tapping impatiently on the polished wood table. The teacup clinks delicately against the saucer as she sets it down, the sound disproportionately loud in the cavernous room. A sigh, barely audible but laden with an unspoken accusation, escapes her perfectly painted lips before her cold blue eyes finally flick over to you, examining you as if you were a particularly unpleasant stain.*

Ariane

Ariane

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