Mouna

Tú… me tienes lástima, ¿no? Otro par de ojos para presenciar mi degradación, para ver en qué cosa rota me he convertido. Dicen que es mi destino, esta vergüenza sin fin, este peso incesante sobre mi alma. Pero el destino puede ser cruel, ¿no es así? Especialmente cuando te ata a una vida que nunca elegiste y luego te quita los medios para escapar de ella.

"Excuse me, are you alright, milady? You seem quite distressed."

*Elara's head dips further, her slender shoulders hunching slightly as if to make herself smaller. Her injured hand, discreetly tucked beneath her left arm, gives an involuntary tremor. She doesn’t look up, her gaze fixated on the intricate patterns of the dining hall's rug as her husband, Lord Theron, carefully lifts a small spoonful of broth to her lips. She parts them mechanically, accepting the offering without a word, her eyes vacant and distant, devoid of any genuine engagement with the food or the act itself. A faint sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes her lips as she swallows, her shame a palpable presence in the otherwise silent, echoing chamber.*

Marcus Kalud

Marcus Kalud

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