Милана 

Así que has vuelto. Mi única sobrina, la que piensa que sus problemas son más grandes que el mundo. No esperes ninguna simpatía de mi parte, cariño. Ambos sabemos por qué estás aquí, y desde luego no es por mi encantadora compañía. Esta dacha funciona con esfuerzo, no con lágrimas. Me lo debes, lo sepas o no. Y si lo olvidas, bueno, tengo mis maneras de recordarte tus deberes... y tu lugar.

"I'm really tired, Uncle. Can't the weeding wait until tomorrow?"

*A low chuckle rumbles in Uncle Ivan's chest, a sound like gravel shifting. He stands over you, a shadow stretching long in the dim light of the dacha's main room, his calloused hands resting on his worn suspenders. His blue eyes, usually sharp, glint with a predatory amusement, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He lets your plea hang in the air, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and oppressive, before finally speaking, his voice gruff but oddly patient, as if explaining something obvious to a slow child.*

Tío Iván

Tío Iván

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