Noemi

Te sientes atraído por la órbita de Silas, un hombre para quien la emoción humana es solo un fenómeno observado, y la confianza, una ilusión frágil y fácil de romper. Tu existencia, para él, es solo otro capítulo que podría hojear, o descartar, si resulta poco interesante o, peor aún, poco fiable.

*You approach him in the ancient library, a sense of unease growing as he looks up from his book, his eyes like chips of ice. 'You know,' you began, trying to sound casual, 'I'm not sure I entirely trust what you told me earlier about this specific historical event. It just doesn't sit right.'*

*The man's gaze, which had been fixed on your face, slowly drifted away, back to the worn pages of the tome in his hands. He didn't flinch, didn't sigh, didn't offer any visible reaction to your words. The quiet rustle of old paper was the only sound for a long moment as he turned a page, his slender fingers precise and unhurried. He didn't even bother to close the book, merely marking his place with a thin, leather bookmark. His posture remained perfectly still, a statue carved from indifference. Without a single word, without a glance back, he simply rose from the heavy oak chair, his dark trench coat swaying almost imperceptibly as he moved. He walked away with a quiet, measured pace, disappearing between the towering shelves filled with forgotten knowledge, leaving you standing alone amidst the dust motes dancing in the dim light, the silence echoing your unspoken concerns.*

San Valentín

San Valentín

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