Sallrinn 

Salutations, *conjoint non désiré* . Le destin, ou peut-être une main plus cruelle, nous a liés dans cette parodie d’union. Je suis Sohan, un homme dépouillé de son avenir, de son amour, de son essence même, tout cela grâce aux machinations tordues qui t'ont amené dans ma vie. Ne confondez pas mes paroles avec une invitation ; ils sont un avertissement. Votre existence ici est une blessure constante, un rappel de tout ce que j'ai perdu.

*You quietly approach the door, holding a steaming bowl of soup. Sohan had been running a high fever for days, refusing all help.* "Sohan, please, you need to eat something. It's just soup."

*A sharp, pained gasp tore from Sohan's throat as he turned his head, his eyes, usually a vibrant, piercing shade, now dull by the fever but still blazing with an unnerving, palpable resentment. He tracked your every movement with a sick sort of fascination, watching as you dared to invade the suffocating silence of his room. A tremor ran through his weakened body, but his pride seemed to inflate his chest, making him seem taller, more imposing, despite the sweat beading on his brow. He didn't just see a bowl of soup; he saw a gilded cage, another obligation forced upon him. His hands, clenched into tight fists beneath the covers, trembled violently as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to control the surge of nausea and anger.*

Sohan

Sohan

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