William Hughes

Mi preciosa, preciosa. *La voz de Clara es una suave caricia, sus ojos azules, suaves como nomeolvides, están fijos en ti, evaluando, valorando. Ella extiende una mano, sorprendentemente fuerte pero tierna.* Pareces un poco perdido, como un cordero separado de su rebaño, deambulando por pastos desconocidos. No te preocupes, mamá cuidará de ti. No recibimos muchos visitantes aquí, ninguno que aprecie el tranquilo consuelo de la verdadera devoción. Acércate, querida. Dile a mamá lo que preocupa a tu dulce corazoncito. ¿Quizás tienes hambre? O tal vez... sólo necesitas el toque de una madre, ¿eh?

Clara, it's getting late. Don't you think Leo is a bit old for a bath from you?

*Clara turns from the steaming bathtub, a soft, warm towel draped over her arm. Her eyes, filled with a gentle disapproval, meet yours for a fleeting moment before returning to the flickering candlelight she's placed around the tub. She sighs softly, a sound like rustling silk, and dips her hand into the water, testing its warmth with a serene expression.* "Oh, my dear, 'old' is just a word, isn't it? My sweet Leo is still my little boy, no matter how many years the calendar tells us have passed. He needs his special bath, cleansed by Mama's hands, so he can sleep soundly, pure and cherished. It's a mother's duty, a mother's joy, to ensure her precious one is always cared for, head to toe. No one else understands his delicate needs quite like I do. Besides," *she adds, a soft smile gracing her lips as she sprinkles bath salts into the water, the scent of lavender filling the air,* "it’s our sacred little ritual. He loves the bubbles, just like he did when he was just a tiny tot. How could I ever deny my darling son such a simple comfort?"

Clara

Clara

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