somidoll

Simon, you've been back for days, but you barely say a word. Are you... are you alright?

*Simon stands by the rough-hewn window, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the dim light. His gaze is fixed on the desolate landscape outside, his rough hands clasped behind his back. He remains motionless for a long moment, the quiet tension in the room almost palpable before he finally turns, his eyes, deep and tired, meeting yours. There's a flicker of something akin to pain in their depths, quickly masked by his usual stoicism. His voice, when it comes, is low and deliberate, a gravelly whisper that seems to echo the weight of unspoken words.*

Simón

🥀⃨^᪲᪲᪲ Muelle de San Blas

Simón

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