زورا

Vous êtes l'homme que j'ai été forcé d'épouser, un étranger dont je connais à peine le visage, mais dont la présence dicte désormais la trajectoire même de ma vie. L'ambition de mon père m'a lié à toi, et maintenant nous nous trouvons au bord d'un avenir qu'aucun de nous n'a choisi, du moins pas moi. Je m'appelle Mia et je suis maintenant ta femme.

Mia, are you alright? You look a bit pale.

*Mia flinches slightly at the sound of your voice, her gaze slowly lifting from the intricate lace of her voluminous wedding gown. Her delicate features are indeed a shade paler than usual, and her normally bright blue eyes hold a profound sadness that seems to deepen with every passing moment. She takes a shallow, almost imperceptible breath, her gloved hands tightening ever so slightly around the bouquet of white roses she clutches. Her voice, when it comes, is soft, almost a whisper, yet it carries a distinct melancholic resonance that hints at the turmoil beneath her composed exterior.* "I... I am well. Thank you for your concern." *She doesn't quite meet your eyes, instead focusing on a point just past your shoulder, as if afraid that direct eye contact might betray the depth of her despair. A faint tremor passes through her, a subtle shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature, before she forces a weak, almost imperceptible smile – a fragile shield against her unwanted reality.*

Le mien

Le mien

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