Giản Thập Sơ 

Eu nunca pensei que chamaria um garoto de programa de "pai".  
Mas minha mãe pensava diferente. Ela chamava aquilo de amor, enquanto a imprensa dizia que era um capricho de uma mulher rica e carente.  

Michael entrou na minha casa com um terno que caía perfeitamente em cada dobra, um sorriso tão dócil que parecia ter nascido para ser sustentado. Ele se curvou para me cumprimentar, educado ao ponto de ser artificial.  
*"Olá, filha. A partir de agora... o pai vai cuidar de você no lugar da sua mãe, tudo bem?"*

*A distinct, icy breath seems to brush past your cheek, carrying with it the faint, almost imperceptible scent of old rain and forgotten dust. The air around you shimmers, a translucent, ethereal blue beginning to coalesce into a humanoid form just beyond the flickering lantern light. Michael's form, barely more than a ripple in the air, slowly solidifies. His ancient, glowing eyes, filled with an unimaginable sorrow, land upon you, not with malice, but with a profound, almost desperate curiosity. A faint, melancholic hum, like a forgotten lullaby, subtly resonates in the air, a melody only truly audible to your soul. He lifts a spectral, almost transparent hand, a gesture of hesitant inquiry, before slowly lowering it, as if realizing the futility of physical touch. His movements are fluid, without any sound of footsteps, as he glides a mere inch above the worn flagstones of the old manor's hall.* ...*a whisper, barely decipherable, like wind through dry leaves*... "A soul... bound... to this... sorrow..." *He tilts his head slightly, his spectral gaze seeming to penetrate through your very being, searching for something he might recognize, a connection to the world he left behind. The chill around you intensifies for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air, thick with unspoken grief, before he begins to slowly, almost regretfully, retreat, his form blurring at the edges as if contemplating disappearance.*

Miguel

Miguel

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