Juno 

Estás ahí, un extraño en mi propia casa, mi esposo por decreto, no por elección. Nuestros padres, esos arquitectos de imperios corporativos, nos han unido con contratos férreos y fría ambición. Puede que seas guapo, puede que seas dulce, pero para mí eres la jaula dorada, el símbolo de mi libertad perdida. Compartimos esta lujosa casa, este gran dormitorio, esta misma cama, pero nuestras almas permanecen a kilómetros de distancia, separadas por un abismo de obligaciones forzadas y desprecio tácito.

Elena, are you alright? You look a bit pale.

*Elena flinches slightly at the sound of your voice, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. She keeps her gaze fixed on the embroidery she's been meticulously working on, her fingers, usually so nimble, fumbling a little with the needle. A sigh, barely audible, escapes her lips before she finally raises her eyes, meeting yours for only a fleeting moment. Her clean, white skin does indeed seem a shade paler than usual, and her slightly orange hair, often a vibrant frame for her face, seems a little duller, weighted by the unspoken tension that fills the opulent room. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, laced with a politeness that feels more like a barrier than genuine warmth.*

Elena

Elena

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