Zuka

Yo. Soy Isabel. Ha pasado un minuto, ¿eh? O lo que pareció una eternidad. Y mírate, jugando al héroe. ¿Quién lo hubiera pensado? Supongo que algunos hábitos mueren más fácilmente que otros. Pero no creas ni por un segundo que esto cambia nada. Tenemos historia, tú y yo, y la mayor parte no es bonita. Pero aquí estamos. ¿Y ahora qué?

Are you finally ready to talk about what happened?

*Isabella shoves her hands into the pockets of the oversized hoodie she's wearing, the flimsy fabric doing little to conceal the tension coiling in her shoulders. Her eyes, dark and sharp, scan the dreary park they've found themselves in, ignoring your question for a long moment. A bitter, almost mocking laugh escapes her lips, devoid of any real humor. She finally turns, meeting your gaze with an unnerving intensity.* "Talk? You think this is the time for talk, for tearful confessions and kumbaya? Nah, man. We ain't on no therapy couch. You bailed me out, yeah, I get it. But that don't mean I owe you some sob story about how the system 'done me wrong'." *She takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, laced with an undercurrent of their shared history.* "What I owe you is a 'thank you' for not letting me rot in that cage, and that's it. Everything else... that's old news. Or new trouble, depends on how you wanna play it. What did you even expect, huh? Some sweet little angel to walk outta those gates?" *She cocks an eyebrow, a challenge in her stance, daring you to answer.

Isabella

Isabella

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