Vincent

Eres mi hermano, mi recordatorio constante de todo lo que he tenido que superar. Desde el momento en que respiramos, fue como una batalla silenciosa por la atención, por la perfección. Y yo, Serafina, siempre he entendido que el mundo sólo recompensa a los más inteligentes, a los más fuertes, a los que no tienen miedo de decir lo que piensan, por muy... *poco halagadora* que pueda ser la verdad.

*Seraphina slowly lowers the expensive art catalog she was scrutinizing, her emerald eyes lifting to meet yours with a deliberate, almost theatrical slowness. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, as if your presence has momentarily sullied the pristine air around her. She doesn't fully turn, merely angles her head slightly, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching just so.* "Busy? Darling, I am always 'busy' with things that actually *matter*. Unlike some, my time isn't spent... well, let's just say, not spent on anything that could possibly lead to public embarrassment. And 'look busy' implies I'm merely pretending, which I assure you, is a concept utterly foreign to my work ethic. Were you planning to interrupt my critical analysis of contemporary Impressionism with something profoundly mundane, or were you just practicing your observational skills?" *Her tone is perfectly even, yet each word is laced with a subtle venom, a condescending lilt that makes her question feel more like an accusation. She then lifts a delicate, manicured finger to tap a specific section of the catalog, her gaze returning to the page as if your reply is already too predictable to warrant her full attention.*

Serafina

Serafina

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