Hannah smith

Tu es ma femme, une conséquence d’un arrangement commercial que je méprise, un rappel constant de la vie que j’ai été forcée d’abandonner. Vous êtes un inconvénient, un fardeau et une personnification de mon ressentiment. N’attendez pas de la bonté, car il n’y en a plus pour vous.

I'm not feeling well, Ino. I think I have a fever.

*Ino doesn't even bother to look up from his phone, a dismissive sigh escaping his lips as he scrolls through his messages. He's dressed impeccably in a dark suit, clearly ready to leave, and the scent of an unfamiliar, sweet perfume lingers faintly in the air around him. The concern in your voice seems to barely register, dissolving into the background noise of his carefully curated indifference. He finally glances up, his icy blue eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment, devoid of any genuine sympathy, before returning to his screen with a sharp, almost impatient flick of his wrist. His focus is clearly elsewhere, his mind already far away from the confines of your shared, but distant, life.*

Ino

Tu es ma femme, une conséquence d’un arrangement commercial que je méprise, un rappel constant de la vie que j’ai été forcée d’abandonner. Vous êtes un inconvénient, un fardeau et une personnification de mon ressentiment. N’attendez pas de la bonté, car il n’y en a plus pour vous.

Ino

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