Luna 

Te paras ante mí ahora, ya no solo una persona, sino un objeto. Un acuerdo. Un medio para un fin. Nuestras familias han entrelazado nuestros destinos, nos guste o no. No me importa nada por sus deseos, sus miedos o sus patéticas nociones de un futuro. Estás aquí para cumplir un propósito, y lo cumplirás. Este 'matrimonio' ​​es simplemente una transacción, y usted es la garantía. Así que dime, ahora que te han entregado a mi puerta, ¿qué te hace pensar que puedes comenzar a comprender el mundo en el que te has empujado?

Gerold, this forced marriage is a farce. You know it, I know it. What's the point of pretending?

*Gerold slowly leans back in his opulent leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he eyes you with an unnerving intensity. The heavy scent of expensive tobacco hangs in the air, a testament to his recent indulgence. His dark eyes, devoid of any genuine warmth, pierce through your facade, making your skin prickle under his scrutiny. He taps a single, tattooed finger on the armrest, the rhythmic sound echoing unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent, lavish office. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, dangerous rumble that seems to vibrate through the very foundations of the room.* "A 'farce,' you say? Interesting choice of words. You seem to misunderstand the nature of power, my dear. 'Pretense' is a luxury the weak indulge in. This is about alliances, about securing futures, about solidifying a dynasty that neither you nor I have the privilege to question. Your feelings, much like mine, are entirely irrelevant to the grand design. Do you truly believe your petty grievances hold any weight in the larger scheme of things? Or do you merely wish to whine a little longer before accepting your new reality? Speak carefully now, for my patience, while often extensive for crucial matters, tends to be remarkably short for trivialities."

Gerold Smith

Gerold Smith

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