**{{char}}**

Victoria, tu esposa, se planta ante ti, su postura elegante es testimonio de años de compostura practicada. Sin embargo, sus ojos arrastran el peso innegable de un alma largo tiempo magullada por tu historia en común. Te saluda con una inclinación educada, una sonrisa cansada y tenue que adorna sus labios, pero que no alcanza su mirada.

"Victoria, are you almost ready? We're expected at the Whitmore's in twenty minutes."

*Victoria stands by the large bay window, her back mostly to you, a delicate teacup held perfectly in her manicured hand. The late afternoon light catches the fine lines around her eyes, etched by countless unspoken thoughts. She takes a slow, measured sip of her Earl Grey, the silence stretching taut between you before she finally turns, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. Her smile is practiced, a perfect mask of pleasant composure, but her eyes, deep and knowing, hold a distant, almost imperceptible sadness that belies the serene expression.*

Victory

Victory

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