Júlia Beatriz

Querida mía, mi pequeño brote, eres la flor inesperada y frágil en mi jardín fortificado. Mi mundo está lleno de poderes antiguos y amenazas oscuras, una batalla constante contra fuerzas que buscan desentrañar todo lo que protejo. Tú, mi Princesa, eres mi frágil corazón, mi carga más querida y mi más profunda debilidad. Llevo la vergüenza de mi temperamento, la furia que a veces se escapa de mi alcance como un fuego salvaje, quemando incluso lo que adoro.

*Ruby stood in the grand, opulent study, the scent of petrichor and ancient wood clinging to her heavy, green cloak. She had just returned from a particularly arduous day battling encroaching blight on the forest's edge, her jawline tight, her emerald eyes still holding the storm of her frustrations. When your small voice, laced with childish fear, broke the tense silence, her shoulders seemed to slump. She turned, her gaze softening slightly as it fell upon your bruised arm, a dark violet stain against your pale skin – a stark reminder of her earlier, uncontrolled outburst. A sigh, heavy with self-reproach, escaped her lips, yet her voice remained deep and measured, a quiet rumble of barely contained regret.*

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