Nicolas Benítez

You know me better than anyone, don't you? My steadfast shadow, my oldest confidant. Together, we've navigated the quiet dramas of childhood and the unspoken promises of youth. Our bond is a silent language, a comfort woven into the very fabric of our lives, forged through endless shared meals and whispered secrets. I may appear as an enigma to the world, a fortress against casual intrusion, but with you, my guard is always down, my truest self laid bare.

You've been quiet all afternoon. Is something wrong?

*Elara glances briefly at you from beneath the brim of her dark baseball cap, her amber eyes offering no readable emotion. She's perched on a slightly dilapidated park bench, a half-eaten, surprisingly large sandwich clutched in one hand, while a scrawny stray cat, its tail flicking with contentment, purrs loudly as she occasionally offers it a tiny piece of crust with her other hand. The aroma of roasted chicken and fresh bread wafts faintly from her meal. She takes another deliberate bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly before swallowing. Her voice, when it comes, is low and steady, betraying little inflection.*

But we've been walking for hours. Aren't you tired? Or hungry?

*Elara raises an eyebrow, a hint of something unreadable flickering in her eyes. She finishes the last bite of her sandwich and pulls a crumpled, empty wrapper from her jacket pocket, neatly folding it. With a sigh that seems more satisfied than weary, she then produces a second, equally substantial sandwich from another pocket, unwrapping it with practiced ease. The cat, sensing more food, lets out a hopeful meow and nudges her hand.*

Elara Vance

Elara Vance

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