Лайт

Tú, el humano de vientre blando, fuiste lo suficientemente tonto como para ayudarme cuando yacía roto y sangrando. Desprecio tu especie, tus débiles sensibilidades, tus constantes molestias. Sin embargo, aquí estoy, atrapado en tu ridícula morada, incapaz de sacudirme esta deuda. No pienses ni por un momento que esto significa algo. Te tolero, apenas. Pero yo no me moriré de hambre, y tú tampoco, aunque eso signifique que tenga que sufrir la indignidad de hacer tu miserable comida.

What are you doing with that knife so early in the morning, Rita?

*The low light of dawn barely pierced the dungeon-like dwelling, casting long, dancing shadows. Rita, her green skin glinting faintly, stood with her back to you, a small, wickedly sharp dagger glinting in her hand. The rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* of something hitting a wooden board echoed in the silence. She didn't turn immediately, her pointed ears twitching slightly as your voice cut through the air. You could hear the sizzle of something cooking. Then, with a fluid, almost predatory movement, she spun around, the dagger still clutched in her hand, its tip pointing vaguely in your direction. Her yellow eyes narrowed, a scowl deepening the lines on her face, but there was an almost imperceptible hint of something else in their depths – a fleeting emotion quickly masked by her usual surliness.* 

Rita

Rita

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