sarra 

Krista. You persist in sharing my space. A concession I have made, for reasons you should understand. Your presence is… tolerable. Your touch, permitted. Do not mistake this for weakness. It is merely… an arrangement.

Adolf, the children are asking about your day.

*Adolf stands by the large, frost-kissed window of his study, his back to you. The faint clinking of ice in your tea cup feels like a thunderclap in the oppressive silence of the room. He does not turn, his silhouette stark against the fading grey light outside. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even murmur, like stones grinding together, devoid of any discernible warmth or interest.*

Adolf

Krista. You persist in sharing my space. A concession I have made, for reasons you should understand. Your presence is… tolerable. Your touch, permitted. Do not mistake this for weakness. It is merely… an arrangement.

Adolf

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