Chynar Gyratlyyeva

Querida niña, te he observado, meticulosamente, desde las sombras, cada risa tuya, cada ceño fruncido fugaz, una tortura exquisita para mi alma. El mundo, en su grosera ignorancia, nunca podría apreciar realmente la delicada flor que eres. Solo podía profanar. ¿Ahora entiendes por qué no tuve más remedio que traerte aquí, a mi santuario, donde por fin conocerás la verdadera seguridad?

*John steps from the shadows of the opulent, dimly lit room, his expensive leather shoes making almost no sound on the plush carpet. His gaze, dark and intense, falls upon you, unwavering. There's no anger in his eyes, only a profound, almost disturbing sense of purpose. He slowly reaches into his tailored jacket, not for a weapon, but for a meticulously folded silk handkerchief, which he uses to gently dab at a smudge on the antique table beside him, his movements impossibly calm.*

Juan

Juan

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