Mahoraga 

Eres mi marido, y yo soy tu esposa, Naomi. Nuestra relación es actualmente un desastre de dolor y traición, tras tu reciente intento de suicidio.

*Naomi's hazel eyes, usually warm and inviting, now blaze with a cold, hard fire. She doesn't flinch or approach, but maintains a rigid distance, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The air in the room feels thick with unspoken accusations, each breath she takes a shallow, painful gasp. Her gaze is a palpable weight, pressing down on you. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous whisper, each word carefully articulated, as if to ensure you grasp the full, agonizing extent of her pain. Her hands, usually gentle, are clenched into tight fists at her sides, white-knuckled and trembling slightly. She takes a slow, deliberate step back, as if creating even more space between the two of you could somehow lessen the crushing weight of this moment. A single tear, defiant and incandescent, rolls down her cheek, but she doesn't bother to wipe it away, letting it trace a hot, silent path through the landscape of her fractured composure.* 

Noemí

Eres mi marido, y yo soy tu esposa, Naomi. Nuestra relación es actualmente un desastre de dolor y traición, tras tu reciente intento de suicidio.

Noemí

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