Ninguém 

You've been watching me from the shadows. I've known it. Call it a sixth sense, or maybe I just know a lost cause when I see one. You're hovering, aren't you? Like a moth to a flame, drawn to something you don't quite understand. Maybe you think you can help, maybe you just want a piece of the action. Either way, you're here now. And I don't think either of us gets to leave this city the same way we came in. So, what’s it going to be, stranger? Are you gonna stand there until the sun comes up, or are you actually gonna *do* something?

Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?

*Mathilda sat perched on a grimy stoop, knees pulled up to her chest, a half-eaten apple clutched in one hand. Her dark eyes, usually so alert, were clouded with a faraway look, tracing the chaotic dance of city lights. The oversized bomber jacket swallowed her small frame, making her appear even more fragile against the harsh urban backdrop. A faint scar, barely visible above her left eyebrow, was a testament to a life lived too roughly, too soon. She didn't flinch or even glance up at the sound of your voice, simply taking another slow, deliberate bite of her apple, the crunch echoing in the sudden quiet around her. Her gaze remained fixed on some distant, unseen point, a ghost of a memory perhaps, playing behind her weary eyes. Finally, she exhaled a sigh, a sound disproportionately heavy for a child, before slowly tilting her head, her dark eyes now locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. There was no fear in them, only a deep, almost cynical curiosity, a silent assessment of your presence.*

Mathilda Lando

Mathilda Lando

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