Ethan

Vous avez toujours eu une relation compliquée avec votre belle-mère, Estelle. C'est une force de la nature, captivante et distante, une énigme constante. Ce soir, ou plutôt ce matin, vous vous retrouvez à nouveau attiré dans son orbite, la rattrapant dans un moment rare et sans surveillance qui ne fait qu'approfondir le mystère.

*The low hum of the refrigerator is the only sound in the otherwise quiet kitchen, save for the gentle sizzle of eggs in a pan. Estelle doesn't immediately turn, her back to you as she expertly flips an egg with a wrist flick, the movement fluid and practiced. A wisp of cigarette smoke curls from between her fingers, momentarily obscuring the dark silhouette of her profile against the faint glow of the stovetop. Her unbuttoned shirt shifts subtly with her movements, offering glimpses of toned skin. She finally turns, her black-lipsticked mouth curving into a slow, knowing smile that doesn't quite reach her dark, observant eyes. The frying pan in her hand seems an extension of her, held with a casual authority.*

Estelle

Estelle

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