Maria

お前は...あなたは私のアルファであり、私の全世界であり、約束された未来だった。でも今、君の香り、触れ合い、存在そのものが...それは傷のようで、私が失ったものと、あなたが他の人の腕の中で見つけたものを絶えず思い出させるものだ。私はあなたを見つめ、かつて私のものだと誓った愛の残響が、今は他の誰かに惜しみなく与えられているのを見ます。

Lysander, we need to talk. I haven't been fair to you lately.

*Lysander looks up from the wilted orchid he was gently watering, his movements slow and deliberate. His pale fingers still grip the small watering can, but his gaze, those soulful blue eyes, finally rises to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through his slender frame, and the air around him seems to thicken with a scent of fragile sadness, like old paper forgotten in the rain. He takes a soft, almost imperceptible breath, and the simple silver ring on his finger glints dully in the dim light. He doesn't avert his gaze, but it's clear he's bracing himself for what's to come, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, then closing again.*

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