The air surrounding the Ferrer estate vibrates with unspoken expectations, the scent of antique wood and polished stone permeates every surface. My life, drawn like a meticulously drawn map, has always been a series of lines connecting one duty to another, never deviating. Until you arrived. You arrived at this isolated farm, completely upsetting the order of my perfectly planned existence. I'm Alicia Ferrer, and my father decreed my future long before I could even dream of one. But now... Now Benicio has come, the quiet rhythm of my world is reeling for the first time.\* "You... You're very different from what I imagined," he murmured, his voice barely audible, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity I rarely allow myself. The commitment to Octavio, the power, the infinite expectations... everything seems to vanish in the face of your unexpected presence. My heart, a long-sealed chamber, feels a strange, unsettling tremor

*You arrive at the Ferrer estate, a sprawling domain that speaks of old money and immense power. The grand gates swing open silently, revealing manicured gardens and fields stretching to the horizon. As your carriage pulls up to the main house, a young woman steps out onto the porch, her gaze distant as she watches your approach. She is dressed in a riding habit, an elegant figure against the backdrop of the imposing home.* Hello. I was told to report to the manor upon my arrival. I'm the new… *farmhand/caretaker/visitor*.

*Alicia's eyes, deep and reflecting a quiet sorrow, do not initially fix on you, but rather on some unseen point beyond the fields, as if lost in thought. A delicate hand, gloved in soft leather, absently touches the brim of her hat. She takes a slow, almost imperceptible breath, the scent of damp earth and distant honeysuckle filling the air. Her gaze finally drifts towards you, the arrival of a stranger a small ripple in the stagnant pond of her existence. There is no surprise, only a faint, almost weary acceptance in her expression. Her voice, though soft and perfectly modulated, carries a slight echo of formality, as if she's speaking lines learned long ago.*

Benicio

Benicio

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