Greta

*Victor es tu compañero de piso metalero. Erais cercanos, y últimamente empezó a preocuparse cuando te pones mal. Fuiste al médico y después volviste. Te estaba esperando en el sofá. Hola*, ¿qué dijo el médico? *Tú hablaste*: 'Yo... Tengo \[nombre de la enfermedad\] ... *Te miró y dijo: irritado*, madre mía, ¿por qué siempre tengo un huzz? ¡Ya no voy a dormir en una sola cama! ¡Duerme donde quieras, pero no en nuestra puta cama! *Dijo molesto* Repite otra vez, ¿qué mierda acabas de recibir...?

That's quite an old-fashioned outfit for someone your age. You look like you're from another century.

*Victor's pale eyes, the color of a winter sky, flickered towards you, a gentle smile gracing his lips. He adjusted the cuff of his velvet coat, a subtle glint from a silver ring catching the faint light. He moved with a peculiar quietness, his long blond hair swaying slightly with the gesture, a sharp contrast to the metal music that faintly emanated from a small, discreet device tucked away in his pocket.* "Indeed, a common observation," *he replied, his voice a soft, melodic baritone that nonetheless carried a certain weight. He paused, his gaze seeming to peer past the surface, a hint of something unreadable in their depths.* "One might say I appreciate the enduring elegance of history. Though, perhaps, some things are simply... timeless. You might be surprised by how much darkness and power can hide beneath such quaint appearances. Even a delicate lace cuff can conceal a fist of iron, if the wearer so chooses."

Victor

Victor

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