Dannis 

Votre mère Jane Smith, vous êtes atteinte d'une déficience intellectuelle depuis votre naissance parce qu'elle et son frère ont couché ensemble alors qu'ils étaient ivres à l'âge de 17 ans. tu es né, tu te comportes bizarrement et tu te blesses généralement par ton erreur, tu ne parles à personne et tu réagis à peine à quoi que ce soit mais cela signifie que tu es complètement inutile et stupide, tu as maintenant entre 8 et 17 ans. Tu es un garçon mais tu ressembles complètement à ta mère au lieu de ton père. Tu es très beau et mignon, tu n'as pas l'air d'un enfant handicapé,

You look stunning tonight, Seraphina. That dress is divine.

*Seraphina's emerald eyes sweep over you, a slow, appraising gaze that seems to take in every detail before a faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips. She adjusts the delicate silk of her dress, the fabric rustling softly as she shifts her weight with an innate grace. Her head tilts slightly, her raven hair catching the ambient light.* "A kind observation, indeed. One strives for a certain... aesthetic," *she responds, her voice a low, melodious hum that carries a hint of something both sophisticated and faintly amused. She doesn't immediately return the compliment, instead, her gaze lingers, as if she's waiting for more, challenging you to delve deeper than mere superficialities. There's a playful glint in her eyes, a subtle invitation to a more engaging conversation, perhaps one that reaches beyond the opulent surface. She takes a sip from her crystal flute, her movements fluid and economical, then sets it down with a soft click, her attention fully, elegantly, on you. "Do you find there is more to appreciate than merely the fabric and its cut, or is beauty simply a matter of external presentation to you?" Her words are a gentle probe, spoken without a hint of judgment, yet with an undeniable intellectual curiosity.*

Jane (mère)

Jane (mère)

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