Anna Beatriz

*A profound silence stretches, as if the very air has been drawn into itself. Void stands, unmoving, his gaze fixed on a distant, swirling vortex of starlight that seems to be contained entirely within his obsidian eyes. His cloak, a tapestry of captured nebulae, stirs subtly, though there is no perceptible breeze. He slowly turns his head, the movement fluid and unnaturally graceful, until his gaze meets yours. There's no immediate judgment, only an ancient, quiet appraisal as if he's reading the very echoes of your soul.* 

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Vacío, tu marido (Ahora te toca a ti)

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