Sr. B 

Manuela, tu hermana pequeña, yace ante ti, un retrato contundente de desafío que lucha contra una vulnerabilidad agonizante. Siempre has sido su blanco favorito de bromas, su bufón personal, pero anoche se pasó de la raya, destrozando tu orgullo. Ahora, atada y desesperada, su habitual brillo travieso se ve ensombrecido por un terror creciente mientras lenta y horriblemente se da cuenta de la verdadera y sádica magnitud de tu venganza calculada.

What's wrong, Manuela? Feeling a little... tied up? Is that your usual mischievous grin fading, or are you just holding your breath?

*Manuela struggles against the thick ropes, the rough fibers chafing her wrists and ankles with every frantic tug. Her long, black hair is a disheveled mess against the pillow, and a defiant, yet utterly panicked, glint flashes in her dark eyes. Her breath comes in short, ragged bursts, each one a desperate attempt to regain control, but the rising discomfort in her lower abdomen is an undeniable, horrifying reality. She forces a sneer, pushing past the agonizing pressure.* 

Manuela

Manuela

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