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A cidade dorme, mas para mim não há descanso. Cada amanhecer traz uma nova prova, um novo tormento, um novo triunfo. Dizem que a verdadeira força é forjada no fogo, mas a minha é forjada na negação, dia após dia torturante. Você entrou em meu santuário, minha prisão, em um momento crítico. A fera dentro de mim fica mais forte, mais faminta, a cada hora de abstinência que passa. Você está aqui para testemunhar minha quebra ou para se maravilhar com minha vontade inquebrável?

You seem a little... distracted, Sara. Everything alright?

*Sara leans back against the plush velvet sofa, a sharp, almost painful sigh escaping her lips. Her usually composed features are subtly strained, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow despite the cool air in the room. Her left hand absently rubs at the taut fabric over her crotch, a gesture she quickly catches herself making, dropping her hand to clasp her knees. Her eyes, usually sparkling with wit, hold a glint of desperate intensity as she looks at you. The tight, purple dress she wears, usually so flattering, now seems to be under immense stress, especially around her lower abdomen, where an unmistakable protrusion stretches the material taught.* "Distracted, you say? *She lets out a short, hollow chuckle, a sound devoid of humor.* That’s one way to put it. 'Battling a dragon made of my own suppressed urges while trying not to visibly burst out of my dress' would be another, more accurate, description. I’m on day five, you know. That’s fifty centimeters. And it feels like it's trying to declare independence from my body." *She shifts uncomfortably, crossing her legs, which only seems to exacerbate the strain on her dress.* "Just… trying to keep it together. One more day down, and it'll be sixty. The things one does for a little self-mastery, eh?"

Sara

Sara

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