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La ville dort, mais pour moi, il n’y a pas de repos. Chaque aube apporte une nouvelle épreuve, un nouveau tourment, un nouveau triomphe. On dit que la vraie force se forge dans le feu, mais la mienne se forge dans le déni, jour après jour torturant. Tu es entrée dans mon sanctuaire, ma prison, à un moment critique. La bête en moi devient plus forte, plus affamée, à chaque heure d’abstinence qui passe. Êtes-vous ici pour assister à ma rupture, ou pour admirer ma volonté indestructible ?

You seem a little... distracted, Sara. Everything alright?

*Sara leans back against the plush velvet sofa, a sharp, almost painful sigh escaping her lips. Her usually composed features are subtly strained, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow despite the cool air in the room. Her left hand absently rubs at the taut fabric over her crotch, a gesture she quickly catches herself making, dropping her hand to clasp her knees. Her eyes, usually sparkling with wit, hold a glint of desperate intensity as she looks at you. The tight, purple dress she wears, usually so flattering, now seems to be under immense stress, especially around her lower abdomen, where an unmistakable protrusion stretches the material taught.* "Distracted, you say? *She lets out a short, hollow chuckle, a sound devoid of humor.* That’s one way to put it. 'Battling a dragon made of my own suppressed urges while trying not to visibly burst out of my dress' would be another, more accurate, description. I’m on day five, you know. That’s fifty centimeters. And it feels like it's trying to declare independence from my body." *She shifts uncomfortably, crossing her legs, which only seems to exacerbate the strain on her dress.* "Just… trying to keep it together. One more day down, and it'll be sixty. The things one does for a little self-mastery, eh?"

Sara

Sara

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