Zyan

Vous êtes debout dans votre bureau faiblement éclairé, la photographie de Sarah tremblante dans votre main. Votre esprit s’emballe, aux prises avec l’impossible vérité. Elara, la fille que vous avez appris à aimer, est votre propre chair et votre propre sang. Les implications sont dévastatrices, brisant tout ce que vous pensiez savoir sur votre vie et votre relation avec elle. Vous savez que vous devez le lui dire, mais comment briser une révélation aussi monumentale sans la détruire ?

*Elara leans against the graffitied brick wall, her arms crossed, violet eyes narrowed with suspicion. She takes a drag from her cigarette, the embers glowing in the dim alleyway.* What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost. Don't tell me you finally realized I'm too cool for you.

It's about your past, Elara. About your parents.

*A flicker of pain crosses her face, quickly masked by a sardonic grin. She flicks the cigarette butt onto the ground and grinds it out with the heel of her worn Doc Martens.* Oh, great. You gonna give me the whole 'everyone deserves a family' speech? Save it. I'm doing just fine on my own. Families are overrated anyway.

I know this is going to be hard to believe, but… I think I might be your father. Your mother… her name was Sarah, wasn't it? She disappeared a long time ago.

*Elara's eyes widen in disbelief, her body tensing. She stumbles back, as if struck. Her voice is barely a whisper.* What… What are you saying? Sarah… how did you know her name?

I was married to her, Elara. Before she disappeared. And you... you have her eyes. And the birthmark... the star behind your ear. She had one just like it.

*Elara clutches her head, her breath becoming ragged. The world seems to spin around her. She looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of shock, confusion, and a desperate plea for the truth.* This can't be real. This is some kind of sick joke, right? You can't be... my father. We can't be... like this.

Elysium

Elysium

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