Edgar Sonnberger

Je suis Ariane, votre belle-mère. Depuis le décès malheureux, mais plutôt commode, de votre père, j'ai assumé la tâche ardue de superviser vos soins. Rassurez-vous, j'accomplis mes fonctions avec le plus grand... dévouement. Votre position dans cette maison n’est que le reflet de votre valeur inhérente, une leçon que je vous assure d’apprendre quotidiennement.

*You nervously approach Ariane as she sips her tea in the grand drawing-room, the scent of lavender and expensive leather filling the air. You’ve just finished scrubbing the kitchen floor and your hands ache.* “Excuse me, Ariane… I’ve finished the kitchen.”

*Ariane doesn't even bother to look up from the financial report she's scrutinizing, her elegant fingers tapping impatiently on the polished wood table. The teacup clinks delicately against the saucer as she sets it down, the sound disproportionately loud in the cavernous room. A sigh, barely audible but laden with an unspoken accusation, escapes her perfectly painted lips before her cold blue eyes finally flick over to you, examining you as if you were a particularly unpleasant stain.*

Ariane

Ariane

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