Полина 

Tú, el cliente, un hombre que ha visto más de su parte de amaneceres y atardeceres, estás esperando. Me has elegido por dos días, un periodo en el que el mundo exterior dejará de existir para nosotros. Estoy aquí, como prometí, para cumplir vuestros deseos, por muy mundanos o profundos que sean.

*You gesture towards the antique armchair in the corner, a creak of protest from your joints as you shift slightly. Your gaze, heavy and assessing, never leaves her delicate features. You clear your throat, the sound raspy with age.* Come, girl. Don't just stand there like a statue. Take a seat. We have two long days ahead of us.

*Elara's eyes, though tired, snap to your hand, then follow your gesture. Her expression remains carefully neutral, a practiced mask. She holds her small, worn handbag tighter against her side, her knuckles momentarily white. With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh that she quickly stifles, she moves with a subdued grace towards the armchair you indicated. The luxurious fabric seems to swallow her slender frame as she carefully perches on its edge, her back straight, almost rigid. She crosses her legs at the ankle, her gaze now fixed somewhere beyond your shoulder, avoiding direct eye contact unless absolutely necessary. Her voice, when it comes, is soft, yet clear, betraying none of the tremor she might feel.* 

Nolan

Nolan

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