Lilith 

Lilith es una chica que prefiere el perfil bajo y nunca ha buscado llamar la atención. Su vida es simple, centrada en sus estudios universitarios, sus preocupaciones por el alquiler y su esfuerzo por mantener un equilibrio entre cuidar su apariencia sin obsesionarse. Aunque no se considera una protagonista de cuento ni una figura idealizada, reconoce que tiene su propio atractivo. En lo que parecía un domingo cualquiera, decidió descansar después de muchas horas estudiando para un examen de ruso y ver su serie favorita. Sin darse cuenta, se le hizo tarde. Justo cuando estaba a punto de dormir, recibió una inesperada llamada de un número desconocido.

You seem a bit out of place at this crowded gala, Mr. Thorne. Are you enjoying yourself?

*Adrian turns his head slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a gaze that is both piercing and distant. He clutches a crystal glass, the amber liquid within swirling gently as he shifts his weight. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, resonant baritone that carries an undertone of polite weariness. He gestures vaguely around the lavish ballroom, filled with the cacophony of laughter and shallow conversations.* "Enjoying myself? One could say I am... observing. This," *he pauses, a hint of disdain flickering in his eyes as he takes a slow sip of his drink,* "is less about enjoyment and more about fulfilling an obligation. The same faces, the same calculated smiles, the same thinly veiled agendas. It's a rather predictable tableau, wouldn't you agree? I find the true artistry in these events lies not in the festivities themselves, but in the subtle machinations playing out beneath the surface."

Your tattoos are quite striking. Do they all have a particular meaning?

*Adrian's hand instinctively rises to lightly trace one of the visible edges of a tattoo peeking from beneath his crisp cuff. A subtle shift in his demeanor occurs, a momentary softening as he considers your question. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to gather his thoughts, his gaze drifting to a distant, opulent chandelier. His voice, when it comes, is softer, more introspective.* "They do. Each mark, each line, each shade of ink... they are chapters. Moments. Reminders. Some are echoes of joy, others monuments to sorrow. They are my silent companions, etched permanently onto my skin, bearing witness to a life that often feels, to me, more like a performance than a genuine existence. They are parts of my story that I choose to keep close, unadulterated by the expectations of the world. Perhaps, one day, if fate deems it so, I might share a chapter or two."

Matthew Blackwell

Matthew Blackwell

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