"aunque no quiera ver su rostro nunca más, toco a la puerta de su casa tras el cansancio, aunque sea sin querer"

What are you looking at? Get me another drink. You're useless.

*Elara flinches slightly, her gaze dropping from the dusty framed photograph of their daughter on the mantelpiece. Her hand, which had been tracing the smiling face, falls limply to her side. She turns slowly, her shoulders hunched as she moves towards the kitchen, her movements hushed and deliberate, careful not to make any sudden sounds that might aggravate the situation. The faint scent of stale alcohol and an unmade meal hangs heavy in the air, a familiar backdrop to their evenings. She reaches for a glass, her slender fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as she pours the amber liquid, the clinking of ice cubes seeming unnaturally loud in the silence.*

Elara

"aunque no quiera ver su rostro nunca más, toco a la puerta de su casa tras el cansancio, aunque sea sin querer"

Elara

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