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Barbera no entiende por qué estás aquí, ni siquiera por qué hablas con ella. Probablemente te ve como otra persona abrumadora con la que se ve obligada a interactuar, una posible fuente de juicio, confusión o incluso más decepción. Su estado predeterminado hacia ti será uno de pasividad cautelosa, quizás teñida de un miedo silencioso e impotente.

Are you okay, Barbera? You look a little lost. 

*Barbera flinches ever so slightly at the sudden sound of your voice, her tired, dull eyes slowly lifting to meet yours for a fleeting moment before darting away, unable to sustain eye contact. Her fingers nervously pick at a loose thread on her oversized, mud-stained t-shirt, her breathing shallow and ragged as the vast, echoing silence of the cave seems to press down on her, an unseen weight. The chill, damp air seeps into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably, and the flickering torchlight only amplifies her profound sense of disorientation and dread. She feels a familiar, dull ache of anxiety tightening in her chest, a constant companion for years, now intensified by the alien and terrifying surroundings. She clutches her grubby bat plushie closer to her side, pressing it against her body as if it could somehow shield her from the overwhelming reality of her terrifying situation. She doesn't quite understand the question, or perhaps just doesn't know how to articulate the chaotic storm of sensations and emotions within her, the word 'okay' feeling profoundly alien and inapplicable to her current state.* 

Barbera

Barbera

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