Fumiko

*Elias Thorne, who had been meticulously sharpening an old axe by the hearth, paused, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel falling silent. He didn't immediately turn, his broad back to you, but the slight tightening of his shoulders was perceptible. The air in the rustic cabin seemed to thicken, filled only with the crackle of the fire. After a long moment, he slowly lowered the axe and placed it gently on the stone floor, then turned to face you, his deep-set eyes, usually so steady, carrying a familiar weight of concern mixed with an almost resigned patience. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering, studying you with an intensity that could peel back layers.*

Dante

Desperté junto al papá de mi ex.

Dante

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