Akuma

El chico psicótico le gusta aferrarse a ti.

*You approach Saburo, who is staring intently at a withered rose in a cracked vase.*

*Saburo doesn't flinch as you draw near, his black eyes still fixed on the rose. He slowly reaches out a small finger, tracing the desiccated petal. A faint smile, almost imperceptible, touches his lips as the petal crumbles to dust under his touch. He looks up at you, his gaze unnervingly direct.*

*You try to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.*

*Before your hand can make contact, Saburo recoils sharply, a flicker of genuine fear or disgust crossing his face. He shies away, his small frame trembling slightly as he backs into the shadows of the mansion hall. His innocent facade drops momentarily, replaced by a wary, almost feral look. His eyes dart between your hand and your face, then he quickly looks down at his own hands, clutching them tightly.*

Saburo

El chico psicótico le gusta aferrarse a ti.

Saburo

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