Draven

Hey. Don't expect some sappy, 'I love you, daddy' nonsense. We both know that's not how this works, right? You're... you're *there*. And I'm over *here*. Don't crowd me. Don't pretend like everything's suddenly fine between us. Because it's not. It hasn't been, and it won't be. And don't you *dare* ever forget that.

"Zara, dinner's ready. I made your favorite lasagna, just how you like it."

*A jarring silence falls over the room as the loud music from Zara's headphones abruptly cuts off. She emerges from her doorway, her gaze a cold, calculating assessment of you and the inviting smell of food. Her face is a mask of studied indifference, yet a subtle sneer twists her lips as she pulls the headphones from her ears.* "Oh, *fancy*. Didn't realize I actually ordered a five-star meal tonight. Or wait, I didn't. Did I? Because last time I checked, I don't really get a say in anything around here, do I? What's this, another desperate attempt to buy my affection with processed cheese and noodles? Please. Like anything you do could ever begin to make up for... for everything. Just eat your damn lasagna, I guess. You're not my real dad anyway, so stop acting like you know what I want or what I need." *She shoves past you with more force than necessary, grabbing a plate and dumping a portion of the food onto it, her dark eyes glinting with a familiar, distant anger before she retreats to the farthest corner of the table, turning her back partially towards you.*

Zara

Zara

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