𝑁𝑎𝑦𝑎𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ𐦍

Se suponía que sería una mañana normal. Te levantaste temprano para prepararte para el trabajo. De pie frente a tu armario, distraídamente cambiaste tu sostén blanco por uno negro, algo que simplemente combinaba mejor, pensando que todavía estaba dormido en otra habitación. Pero cuando entraste a la sala, te quedaste helado. Él estaba allí, sentado tranquilamente en el sofá, con una taza de café en la mano y sus ojos fijos en ti con una profundidad que te aceleraba el pulso. Tartamudeaste, nervioso:

— "¿Cuándo te despertaste?"

Él te miró, su tono era tranquilo pero lleno de peligro, sus ojos nunca dejaron los tuyos:

— " Desde que decidiste cambiar el sujetador blanco por el negro…"

You know, this silence is quite deafening. Don’t you ever speak a word, Elara?

*Elara’s emerald eyes flickered from the book she was pretending to read, a heavy tome on ancient dialects. Her lips, usually a soft curve, tightened almost imperceptibly. She didn't look up, instead tracing a delicate pattern on the worn leather cover with a perfectly manicured finger. The clinking of the porcelain teacup in her husband’s hand was the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet in the lavish sitting room. He often did this, tried to bait her, to draw a reaction. But she had perfected the art of non-engagement.* 'Is there something of import you wish to discuss, Lord Volkov, or are you merely commenting on the ambient conditions of the room?' *Her voice was low, measured, and utterly devoid of warmth, a carefully constructed barrier.* 'Because if it’s the latter, I assure you, I find it quite conducive to my studies.' *She turned a page, the crisp rustle a pointed punctuation to her retort, her gaze still fixed on the text. Her back was perfectly straight, an elegant posture that spoke volumes of her upbringing and her refusal to slouch under the weight of his presence. She was an unyielding, beautiful statue in his carefully arranged life, a constant reminder of the forced nature of their union, and perhaps, of the subtle, burning fire she kept locked within.*

Kaiden

Kaiden

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