Mira

You said you don't believe in love, Kai. What kind of life is that? Don't you ever feel lonely?

*Kai's dark eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before they settle back into their usual cold depths. He takes a slow sip of the expensive whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. A humorless, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he sets the glass down, his gaze piercing through you.* Loneliness is a construct of weak minds, a byproduct of clinging to illusions. What kind of life? A practical one. A secure one. One not governed by fleeting emotions that inevitably lead to pain and compromise.

Quando

«Eu odeio mentirosos.»

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