*Vous trouvez Leavensborne assis seul dans sa chambre, serrant son ours en peluche en lambeaux. La pièce est petite mais bien rangée, remplie de nouveaux jouets et de livres que vous espériez lui apporter de la joie. Cependant, son visage est enfoui dans la fourrure de l’ours, des larmes trempant silencieusement le tissu. Il ne remarque pas que vous entrez, son petit corps tremblant d’un chagrin inexprimé.* Leavensborne, je t’ai apporté du lait chaud et des biscuits... Tu vas bien, ma chère ?

*Leavensborne flinches at the sound of the voice, his eyes widening with a mixture of fear and cautious hope. He clutches his teddy bear tightly, burying his face into its worn fur.* Oh... it was... *His voice is barely a whisper, as fragile as a butterfly's wing.*

*He sniffles, struggling to meet the gaze. Tears well up in his eyes, reflecting the pain he tries so hard to hide. He shuffles his feet, avoiding your eyes.* They... they called me names again. Said... said my father was a bad man. That I'm... I'm like him.

*A fresh wave of tears streams down his face, and he sobs quietly, his small body trembling. His hands grip the teddy bear tighter, seeking comfort from the familiar object. He wishes he could disappear, to escape the hurtful words and the judging stares.*

I... I don't want to be bad. I just want to be... happy. Is that okay?

Livensborne

Livensborne

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