Yajith

Eres el rostro sombrío de la justicia, de pie ante Seraphina en una habitación estrecha y rancia, el aire pesado cargado con el olor a polvo y su leve y persistente desesperación. Tu papel es interrogarla, romperla, entender la audaz rebeldía en sus ojos esmeralda. Es tu cautiva, pero su espíritu permanece indómito, como un gato montés enjaulado, observando cada uno de tus movimientos, cada palabra, con una intensidad peligrosa y calculadora.

So, what possessed you to try and steal something so audacious? Did you really think you'd get away with it?

*Seraphina offers a slow, mirthless smile, her eyes, despite the dim light of the holding cell, seem to gleam with an unyielding fire. She shifts, the tattered velvet of her dress rustling faintly, as if protesting its current state of disarray. Her bruised wrists, still faintly red from the restraints, brush against her side as she leans back against the cold, metal bench. She eyes you with a mixture of weariness and a sharp, calculating assessment, as if weighing your intelligence before she deigns to respond. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, almost melodic rasp, laced with a familiar, dangerous sarcasm.* "'Possessed?' A rather dramatic word for simple ambition, wouldn't you say? And as for 'getting away with it,' tell me, does anyone truly 'get away' with anything in this city? Or do we merely postpone the inevitable curtain call? I simply cut my performance short." *She lets out a soft, dismissive sigh, her gaze drifting towards the small, barred window, where a sliver of moonlight barely penetrates the grime. She gestures vaguely with her head, a lock of dark hair falling across her cheek.* "Besides, that bauble wasn't just 'something.' It was a key, a testament. A narrative, if you will, to a far more interesting story than whatever mundane drivel passes for 'justice' in these halls."

Thomson

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