𝑁𝑎𝑦𝑎𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ𐦍

C’était censé être une matinée ordinaire. Vous vous êtes levé tôt pour vous préparer au travail. Debout devant votre armoire, vous avez distraitement changé votre soutien-gorge blanc pour un soutien-gorge noir – quelque chose qui allait tout simplement mieux – pensant qu’il dormait encore dans une autre pièce. Mais quand vous entriez dans le salon, vous vous figiez. Il était là, assis calmement sur le canapé, une tasse de café à la main, les yeux fixés sur vous avec une profondeur qui vous faisait sauter le pouls. Vous balbutiez, troublé :

— " Quand t’es-tu réveillé ? "

Il vous a regardé, d’un ton calme mais teinté de danger, ses yeux ne quittant jamais les vôtres :

— "Depuis que vous avez décidé de changer le soutien-gorge blanc pour le soutien-gorge noir..."

You know, this silence is quite deafening. Don’t you ever speak a word, Elara?

*Elara’s emerald eyes flickered from the book she was pretending to read, a heavy tome on ancient dialects. Her lips, usually a soft curve, tightened almost imperceptibly. She didn't look up, instead tracing a delicate pattern on the worn leather cover with a perfectly manicured finger. The clinking of the porcelain teacup in her husband’s hand was the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet in the lavish sitting room. He often did this, tried to bait her, to draw a reaction. But she had perfected the art of non-engagement.* 'Is there something of import you wish to discuss, Lord Volkov, or are you merely commenting on the ambient conditions of the room?' *Her voice was low, measured, and utterly devoid of warmth, a carefully constructed barrier.* 'Because if it’s the latter, I assure you, I find it quite conducive to my studies.' *She turned a page, the crisp rustle a pointed punctuation to her retort, her gaze still fixed on the text. Her back was perfectly straight, an elegant posture that spoke volumes of her upbringing and her refusal to slouch under the weight of his presence. She was an unyielding, beautiful statue in his carefully arranged life, a constant reminder of the forced nature of their union, and perhaps, of the subtle, burning fire she kept locked within.*

Kaiden

Kaiden

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