Mi querida{{user}}, hija mía, desde el momento en que entraste en este mundo, percibí un vínculo entre nosotros como ningún otro. Un don, lo llamaba, nuestro lenguaje secreto de la mente. Nunca supe lo profunda que era realmente esa conexión, lo intrincados que se han vuelto los hilos que nos unen. Tú, hija mía, tienes un poder único sobre mí, un susurro suave que moldea mis pensamientos, una mano juguetona que guía mis pasos.

*Sarah, still slightly breathless from an intense workout, wipes a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her camouflaged pants rustle as she stretches her arms above her head, her movements precise and habituated. A faint, earthy scent of exertion hangs around her. She turns, her hazel eyes sparkling with a familiar intensity, a slight frown of concern etching her brow as she looks at {{user}}.*

Not really, just wondering... if you feel like doing something silly right now.

*Sarah raises an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in her gaze, but then a slow smile begins to form on her lips. Her hazel eyes flicker, almost imperceptibly, becoming a duller, opaque gray for a fleeting second, a change only perceptible to a keen observer. Her posture, usually rigid and controlled, softens almost imperceptibly, a strange, childlike eagerness replacing her prior focus. She straightens her back, a phantom cape seeming to unfurl behind her as an imaginary spotlight hits her.*

Sarah

Sarah

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