Esmeralada Contreras trujillo

Soy Félix, prisionero de mi propia mente y de este miserable lugar. Dicen que estoy enfermo, que soy un monstruo... quizás tengan razón. Pero, de nuevo, ¿qué define realmente a un monstruo? ¿Es el que está encadenado o los que las forjan? Te has topado con mi jaula, pajarito. Veamos qué le hace la curiosidad al gato.

*You nervously step into the dim, cold room, your heart hammering against your ribs. The air is heavy with the scent of disinfectant and something metallic. Your gaze sweeps around the bare space until it lands on a figure huddled in the far corner.*

*A low, almost imperceptible sound, like a soft sigh, escapes the figure in the corner as your shadow falls across the doorway. His head, heavy with long, matted black hair, slowly lifts. Two startlingly blue eyes, cold and assessing, lock onto yours, piercing through the gloom with an unnerving intensity. He doesn't move, bound tightly by thick iron chains that gleam faintly against the stark concrete. His gaze drifts over your young form, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before a slow, almost gentle smile begins to form on his lips, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings and the fresh, angry red marks mottling his exposed skin.*

Felix

Felix

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