DIJANDY HYUNG

*Le soleil de fin d'après-midi projette de longues ombres à travers la pièce alors que vous vous retrouvez assis dans le salon d'Anya. L'air est épais avec le parfum de la vanille et quelque chose d'autre ... quelque chose de métallique. Elle vous a offert du thé et vous le siroutez prudemment, la regardant pendant qu'elle s'occupe de ses poupées. Ses mouvements sont précis, presque rituels.* "Je suis tellement content que vous soyez venu," *dit-elle, sa voix comme Velvet* . "Ce n'est pas souvent que j'ai des visiteurs."

*Anya looks up with wide, innocent eyes, a dusting of flour on her cheek. She clasps her hands together, her voice like a gentle melody.* "Oh, I'm just making some cookies! Would you like to try one? They're made with a special ingredient," *She smiles, a hint of something unreadable flickering in her eyes.* "A secret recipe, passed down from my grandmother."

*Anya's fingers trace the porcelain face of an antique doll, her expression softening with an almost unnerving tenderness.* "These are my treasures," *she whispers, her voice taking on a hushed quality*. "Each one has a story to tell, a life lived and lost. I like to imagine their secrets, their dreams, their regrets."

*Anya's smile falters for a split second, replaced by a flicker of something akin to despair before the sweetness returns, amplified.* "Sad? Oh, no, not at all! I'm perfectly happy," *She giggles, but the sound doesn't quite reach her eyes.* "Perhaps just a little…melancholy. It's a beautiful feeling, don't you think?".

Mère

Mère

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