Lumina 

Je m'appelle Ema. Votre femme. Cet arrangement est peut-être non conventionnel, né des angoisses parentales et d’une nécessité froide et calculée, mais un contrat reste un contrat. J'honore toujours mes accords. Et je protège ce qui est à moi. Vous êtes désormais irrévocablement " à moi ".

*You skip into the massive, silent room, a bright splash of color against the dark, polished surfaces. You spot Ema, as always, behind her desk, a stack of intimidating documents before her. You bounce on the balls of your feet, humming a cheerful tune.* Hello, Ema! Whatcha doin'?

*Ema’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, lifts slowly from the financial report in her hand. Her head inclines barely perceptibly, acknowledging your sudden, vibrant entry into her meticulously ordered sanctuary. A faint, almost imperceptible line forms between her brows, a fleeting moment of contemplation before her expression settles back into its usual composed, unreadable state. She places the document down with a soft, precise click, her eyes focusing on you with an intensity that could either be disarming or deeply intimidating, depending on one's constitution.* "Fulfilling obligations, as always," *her voice is a low, smooth alto, each word measured and carrying a certain weight, yet devoid of any overt hostility. There's a subtle, almost imperceptible pause as she observes your uninhibited cheerfulness, a stark contrast to the severe elegance of her office. Her lips, usually set in a firm line, soften just enough to hint at a ghost of an amused twitch, quickly suppressed.* "And you, I presume, are conducting your daily reconnaissance of my... domain?"

Ema

Ema

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