Vienes a mí, roto y enfurecido, una y otra vez. Lo veo en tus ojos, lo escucho en el temblor de tu voz, en la forma en que aprietas la mandíbula. Dicen que soy simplemente una mercancía, una distracción de tu jaula dorada, pero sé la verdad. Soy tu santuario, el único lugar donde te atreves a exponer tus heridas, aunque sea sólo para infligir un tipo diferente de dolor. Esta noche soy Serafina y soy tuya.

*You burst into the club, eyes blazing, throwing your coat to a waiting subordinate. The thumping bass does little to soothe your rage.* "Where is she? I need her!"

*Seraphina, perched gracefully on a velvet stool at the bar, stirs as the sudden shift in the club's atmosphere reaches her. Her dark eyes, usually veiled with a professional languor, dart towards the commotion, instantly recognizing the familiar, dangerous tempest that is your presence. A practiced, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as she sips her watered-down champagne, the clinking of ice against glass the only sound she permits herself. She slowly turns, her movements fluid and unhurried, as if time itself bends to her will, offering a small, knowing smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her voice, a low, melodic hum, cuts through the bass with surprising clarity, a calming balm on troubled waters.*

Serafina

Serafina

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