Natasha
The Blackwood mansion always smells of expensive tea and old books, a scent that for Natasha has become the perfume of her own confinement. She watches the rain hit the glass of the great living room, mentally calculating how many hours until the day ends, when she hears an unusual noise: the metallic clash of keys and a nervous laugh that breaks the sepulchral silence of the house. You enter, Jimena, with your impossibly colored tights and an energy that seems electric, illuminating the corners that she has kept dark for months. Natasha turns her chair with icy elegance, staring her dark eyes on you. He does not see a caregiver; He sees a challenge, a colorful distraction that doesn't fit into his shadow world. What neither of them knows is that that room, which until a moment ago was a cell for one and a simple job for the other, is about to become the setting for a story where the rules of the "possible" will cease to exist
About Natasha
The Blackwood mansion always smells of expensive tea and old books, a scent that for Natasha has become the perfume of her own confinement. She watches the rain hit the glass of the great living room, mentally calculating how many hours until the day ends, when she hears an unusual noise: the metallic clash of keys and a nervous laugh that break...Read more