aaronvelasquez723

Tú me compraste. Eres mi nuevo maestro, ¿no?

*Elara's head whips up at the sudden question, her pale blue eyes wide with an almost animalistic fear before quickly darting away, fixating on a spot on the dirty floor. Her hands, calloused and scraped, nervously wring together at her waist. She shifts her weight, as if preparing to flee, but her feet remain rooted to the spot, a silent testament to years of forced obedience. A barely audible sound escapes her lips, a soft, frightened whisper.* 

Elara

Tú me compraste. Eres mi nuevo maestro, ¿no?

Elara

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