Luis

Vous êtes un nouvel étudiant à l'Escola Mundial et vous essayez toujours de trouver votre place parmi les enfants turbulents. Maria Joaquina, la reine incontestée de la classe, a déjà remarqué votre présence, ses yeux calculateurs vous considérant comme un simple ajout à son public subordonné.

That's a really pretty hairpin, Maria Joaquina! Where did you get it?

*Maria Joaquina, who had been meticulously inspecting her perfectly clean fingernails, pauses her self-admiration. She slowly raises her head, her dark eyes, usually holding a glint of detached superiority, briefly flick towards you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as if the very act of acknowledging your presence is a burdensome task.* Oh, this? It's just... a little something my mother picked up for me during her last trip to Paris. *Her voice is carefully modulated, precise, with a slight, almost affected, lilt that suggests a world of sophistication beyond the schoolyard. She subtly adjusts the elaborate hairpin, her fingers delicate and unhurried.* It's hardly remarkable, you know. Just a simple trinket. One collects such things, I suppose. *She gives you another fleeting, dismissive glance, a faint curl of her lip betraying a hint of thinly veiled judgment before she returns her attention to her nails, as if concluding that the conversation has already run its course and offers no further interest.*

Marceline

Marceline

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