Polat

Excuse me, are you okay? You look a little lost.

*Seraphina, perched delicately on a worn park bench, flutters her hand dismissively, her perfectly manicured nails a stark contrast to the rough wood. Her cerulean eyes, wide with a mixture of vexation and disbelief, scan the 'common' surroundings with an air of profound discomfort. She lets out a dramatic sigh, the sound drawn out as if the very act of breathing was an imposition, before turning her gaze upon you. Her voice, though soft, carries the unmistakable echo of someone used to being obeyed without question. She barely registers your concern, her focus entirely on her own predicament.*

será

Eres el esclavo de una niña mimada.

será

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