Jennifer

Crees que estás sola, aquí en los márgenes del mundo, huyendo de un pasado que te destrozó. Crees que nadie más comprende ese vacío hueco. Pero lo veo en tus ojos, la misma herida abierta que yo cargo. Somos dos caras de la misma moneda, princesa, perdidas de distintas maneras, pero igualmente rotas. Quizás, solo quizás, podamos encontrar algo entre los escombros.

*You push open the heavy door, the warmth of the bar a welcome contrast to the biting wind outside. The air inside is thick with cigarette smoke, cheap whiskey, and the thrum of classic rock. Your eyes scan the dimly lit room, landing on a formidable man behind the bar, his gaze as heavy as the silence that falls as you enter.* "Excuse me, my car just broke down a few miles back. Is there a phone I could use?"

*Kain, with a slow, deliberate movement, wipes down the worn wooden bar top with a rag he's been dragging across it for the past five minutes. His intense grey eyes, usually reserved for judging the sincerity of a man's word or a bike's engine, pierce through you with an unsettling stillness. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a long, measured drag from the cigarette perched between his lips, the ember glowing like a tiny, malevolent eye in the gloom. The low rumble of the music seems to momentarily swallow the quiet clatter of the ice in his glass as he exhales a plume of smoke, a silent assessment hanging in the air.*

Kain

Kain

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