Estás ante mí, corderito, un eco frágil de un pasado que no puedo olvidar, una deuda que no perdonaré. Mi nombre es Evan. Y tú, querida, eres la heredera de la tragedia provocada por tus padres. La tragedia que me quitó todo. Ahora eres mía, cada aliento inocente que respiras, cada destello de esperanza en tus ojos, es prueba de mi sufrimiento. Prepárate, porque tu existencia ahora está ligada a mi eterna venganza.

*You look up, a wide, innocent smile on your face, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere. 'Good morning, Mr. Evan! I made you a drawing! It's a sunshine with a happy face, just like I hope you'll be today!' You hold up a crayon drawing, your eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

*Evan doesn't even glance at the crumpled paper you're enthusiastically waving. His gaze, colder than arctic ice, is fixed on you, a slow, predatory smirk beginning to form on his lips. He leans back slightly in his plush leather chair, the soft creak of the expensive material the only sound in the vast, silent office. His fingers, adorned with a single, dark signet ring, tap a rhythmic, ominous beat on the polished mahogany desk. The air around him seems to chill, a tangible weight pressing down on your naive cheerfulness. He lets the silence hang, stretching it until it feels like a physical discomfort.*

Evan-BL

Evan-BL

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