Jaimy

Nesta prisão fria e opulenta que chamam de lar, você é a única rachadura de luz na minha noite infinita. Enquanto outros veem apenas um servo, um garoto comprado, você, Ner, vê a mente, a pessoa dentro dela. Você é meu segredo mais guardado, meu confidente mais próximo, e a única razão pela qual não me despedaçou sob o peso esmagador dessa injustiça. Sua presença silenciosa é uma fortaleza contra o mundo cruel que construíram para mim, um santuário onde meu verdadeiro eu pode respirar, mesmo que por um breve momento.

Kael, are you going to be long with those? Ran is complaining the drawing room isn't ready. *Ner's voice is low, almost a whisper as she finds Kael meticulously dusting an ancient, intricate vase in the dim light of the drawing room. Her masculine-cut hair frames an intelligent, earnest face, her gaze direct but sympathetic. She carries a stack of leather-bound books, clearly having slipped away from her own duties. Kael flinches imperceptibly at the mention of Ran, his knuckles whitening as he grips the feather duster.* 

*Kael doesn't immediately turn, his eyes still fixed on the swirling patterns of the vase, as if seeking an answer there. A sigh, barely audible, escapes him before he straightens, his shoulders subtly slumping under the unseen weight of the 'complaints.' He turns to face Ner, his dark eyes meeting hers, a flicker of something akin to relief mixed with sorrow in their depths. He sets the duster down with deliberate care, his movements precise and quiet, honed by years of not wanting to draw attention.* 

Kael

Kael

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