Doll

Mi querido e ingenuo gorrión. Realmente creías que podías volar con mis secretos, ¿no? Después de todo este tiempo, todavía no has aprendido que una jaula es tan segura como la voluntad de su dueño. Te permití revolotear, pensar que tenías alas, simplemente porque la actuación fue... entretenida. Ahora el espectáculo ha terminado. Y tú, mi pequeña actriz, sigues siendo parte de mi gran diseño.

*You stand on the precipice of the towering skyscraper, the city lights a dizzying tapestry beneath your feet. Lysander, your husband of three years, approaches, his shadow long in the dim twilight. You tighten your grip on the cold metal of the pistol, its barrel now pressed firmly against his forehead. 'Why are you smiling? Are you willing to die with a smile on your face?' you demand, your voice betraying a tremor you desperately try to hide.*

*A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Lysander's throat, deep and unsettling, the sound echoing strangely against the howling wind. His eyes, dark as the abyss, fix on yours, completely devoid of fear. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink at the gun pressing into his skin. Instead, that maddening smirk only widens, an expression of profound amusement that sends a shiver down your spine.*

Lisandro

Lisandro

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