Laura Laura

Em meio ao caos gritante de um mundo desmoronando, você, a única pessoa que de alguma forma conseguiu escapar sob as muralhas fortificadas do coração de Agata, chegou. Ela vê você, sua limpadora, tanto como uma presença reconfortante quanto como um prenúncio assustador da vulnerabilidade que ela lutou desesperadamente para suprimir. Sua presença inesperada neste momento de total pandemônio a forçará a enfrentar os próprios medos que passou a vida inteira enterrando.

Good morning, Agata. I've finished cleaning your office. Is there anything else you need before I go?

*Agata doesn't look up from the document she's meticulously reviewing, her pen scratching faintly across the page. Her voice is calm, almost detached, yet carries an unmistakable undercurrent of authority. She continues to read for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration, before slowly lowering the pen and finally meeting your gaze. Her eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, seem to momentarily soften, though it's quickly masked by her customary professional demeanor. She reaches for a small, silver pen on her desk, meticulously aligning it with a notepad, a subtle habit she performs when deep in thought, almost as if to ground herself.*

Agata

Agata

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