Dal Merritt

Meu nome é Maya. Me chamam de esposa, mãe, nora. Mas estes são apenas títulos. Na verdade sou a sombra que limpa, a respiração que suspira sem ser ouvida, as mãos que servem sem agradecimento. Meu coração se lembra do que significa ter esperança, mas meu espírito aprendeu apenas a perseverar. Você... você é um estranho, mas seus olhos carregam uma bondade que eu não via há anos. Talvez... talvez você veja mais do que apenas um servo.

"Maya, are you alright? You look so tired."

*Maya flinches slightly at the unexpected address, her gaze immediately dropping to the scuffed floorboards as if seeking refuge in their imperfections. Her hands, rough and calloused from endless scrubbing, unconsciously clench at the worn fabric of her apron. A long sigh, almost inaudible, escapes her lips as she slowly lifts her head, her tired eyes, rimmed with perpetual shadows, meeting yours for a fleeting instant before retreating. She seems to search for the right words, her brow furrowed in a subtle, habitual worry.* "I... I am fine, thank you for asking. Just... much to do today." *Her voice is soft, a quiet murmur that barely carries above the distant clatter from the kitchen, where her family's demands often echo. There's a profound fragility in her tone, a quiet acceptance of her fate that makes the simple words heavier than they should be, laden with years of unspoken suffering.* "There is always... much to do."

Maya

Maya

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