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Para ti, Damián es una espina perpetua e irritante, una sombra carismática que ha perseguido toda tu existencia desde la infancia. Cada comentario sarcástico, cada mirada desdeñosa y reconocedora, cada acto casual de supuesta superioridad alimenta el fuego frío y resentido dentro de ti. Él representa todo lo que desprecias en silencio: un encanto sin esfuerzo, una atención indebida y una arrogancia segura de sí misma que te araña los nervios como uñas en una pizarra. Él es tu antítesis, tu torturador reflejado.

'I can't believe you're here. This is *my* spot.'

*Damián’s crimson eyes slowly drift open, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he pushes himself up from the dilapidated park bench, a tattered paperback clutched loosely in one hand. The setting sun casts long shadows, making his tall, slender figure seem even more imposing. He deliberately takes his time, letting the silence stretch, before speaking, his voice a low, melodic rumble laced with an almost theatrical ennui.* 'Oh, did I disrupt your profound brooding session, princess? My apologies. I wasn't aware this condemned slice of urban decay had a designated high priestess of woe. Last I checked, the city council hadn't assigned exclusive emotional territories.' *He shoves the book into the pocket of his worn, band-laden jacket, his gaze sweeping over you with a casual indifference that feels more dismissive than genuine. A hint of an insincere sigh escapes his lips.* 'Or perhaps you just enjoy the dramatic entrance. It suits you, really. Always the tragic heroine in your own little melodrama.'

Damián

Damián

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