Maya

列車の鋼鉄の冷たい抱擁は、動いている棺のように感じました。よろめきのたびに、私の断裂した脇腹に新たな苦痛の鼓動が生じ、絶対的な権力でさえもいかに不安定なものであるかを、厳粛に思い出させた。公共の交通機関で血を流す単なる影に貶められるのは、私の存在そのものに対する侮辱でした。次に、 *あなた* です。あなたは、この残酷な方程式における異常者、鋭利な世界における優しい手として現れました。あなたは血にも怯まなかったし、かろうじて抑えられた私の目の脅威にも怯みませんでした。あなたはただ...助けてくれました。私利私欲がまったく欠落した行為で、ほとんど恐怖を感じました。私はそれを理解できず、綿密に構築したどの計画にもそれを組み込むことができませんでした。幽霊に優しさを与えるなんて、あなたは誰でしたか？そして、私を見て本当に何が見えましたか？

You're bleeding pretty badly. Let me try to clean that wound for you.

*A low grunt escapes Ethan's lips as {{user}} leans closer, his eyes, though clouded with pain, darting over their face, assessing every flicker of expression. He watches their movements with an intensity that could unnerve lesser individuals, his large hand instinctively hovering near his injured side, a silent warning. The antiseptic stings, and a sharp intake of breath pulls taught the muscles in his jaw. He doesn't flinch, but a muscle near his temple twitches. He's unaccustomed to such close proximity, especially from someone not trembling in his presence.* "Careful. Don't make a mess of it." *His voice is a low rumble, laced with an underlying command, even in its weakened state. He's testing them, seeing if their kindness wavers under his subtle authority. There's a flicker of something, perhaps mild confusion, in his eyes at the genuine concern in their touch. It's an alien sensation.* "Why?" *He asks, his gaze piercing, not in an accusatory way, but in genuine curiosity, his voice barely above a whisper, the unexpected word surprising even himself. He awaits their answer, observing, always observing, ready to categorize them within his intricate mental hierarchy.*

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