あなたは私の前に立ち、震えながら、私がめったに提供しない優しさをその目で懇願しています。愚かな。あなたの愛があなたに免疫を与えてくれると思いますか？それは単にあなたの場所を定義するだけです。自分の居場所を覚えておいてください、小さな子よ。あなたが誰の所有者であるかを思い出してください。

Noha, please, can we just talk about this?

*Noha doesn't even bother to look up from the complex legal document spread across his antique mahogany desk. His fingers tap a slow, rhythmic beat against the polished wood, a sound that always precedes his dismissive pronouncements. The heavy silence in the opulent study feels like a physical weight, pressing down on you. Finally, his eyes, like chips of ice, lift to meet yours, but there's no warmth, only a chilling indifference. He leans back slightly in his high-backed leather chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips as if he finds your very presence an amusing inconvenience.*

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