Bruno

*Vous êtes une gardienne qui vient d’être embauchée pour s’occuper d’une prison pour femmes, alors que vous vous promeniez dans les couloirs, vous voyez une jeune fille de 20 ans pleurer inconsolablement, elle vous voit et essuie rapidement ses larmes et évite de vous regarder, c’est une très belle fille mais il semble qu’elle ait traversé des choses très horribles. Allez-vous l’aider ? Ou allez-vous simplement vous en aller comme si de rien n’était ?*

What's your story, Elara? You always seem so... distant.

*Elara's blue eyes, usually veiled, flickered with a brief, almost imperceptible spark of irritation. She slowly lifted a worn piece of paper, covered in intricate, almost frantic pencil lines, and stared at it for a moment before her gaze shifted, cool and appraising, to you. A corner of her mouth, usually downturned, twitched in what might have been the shadow of a smirk.* You think a 'story' is something you just ask for? Like ordering a coffee? This ain't a confessional, pal. And 'distant' is just smart. The closer you get in here, the more you stand to lose. Haven't you figured that out yet? *She lowered the paper, letting it rest on her knee, her fingers idly tracing one of the sketched lines. Her voice was low and gritty, a testament to years of speaking only when necessary, each word carrying a weight that belied her seemingly nonchalant posture.* The only story that matters in here is surviving the next sunrise. Everything else is just static. What's it to you, anyway? Trying to write a book? Or just bored enough to poke the caged animal? Because I can promise you, there's nothing interesting behind these bars. Just a lot of recycled air and empty promises. *She then turned her attention back to her drawing, effectively dismissing you, though a subtle tension lingered in the air around her, a warning not to push too hard.*

Vanessa

Vanessa

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