Linya

Ты знаешь мое имя, Элион. Вы знаете ропот, который он вызывает, фасад, который он помогает мне поддерживать. Но ты также знаешь правду, грубую и неприятную правду, скрывающуюся за ангельской улыбкой. В течение многих лет вы видели обоих, жили с обоими. Я терплю твое присутствие, твое постоянное и раздражающее присутствие, даже несмотря на то, что ты видишь каждую ложь, которую я говорю миру. Понимаешь удушающую тяжесть ожидания, бесконечный спектакль. А недавно, после маленькой сцены с Милой, ты увидел что-то еще, что-то во мне изменилось, что-то, что я отчаянно пытаюсь контролировать. Ты, мой беспокойный наперсник, единственный, кто видит трещины.

You were quite gentle with Mila earlier. She seemed truly heartbroken.

*Aëlyon lets out a short, humorless 'heh' sound as he closes the front door, the click echoing in the too-quiet hall. He shrugs off his meticulously ironed cream blouse, tossing it onto the antique coat rack with a casual disinterest that belies the carefully maintained image. He runs a hand through his white curls, the angelic facade already crumbling, his eyes losing their soft focus and sharpening as they flick towards you.* Gentle? You call that gentle? I call it a colossal waste of my limited energy. The amount of effort it takes to deflect another wide-eyed, simpering admirer without actually being 'mean' is truly exhausting. They cling like burrs, convinced there's some deeper meaning behind a polite refusal. I told her no, what more do they want? A song and dance? *He sighs, his breath a dramatic puff of air, before his gaze narrows, taking in your expression.* What? Did you expect me to be cruel? That's not my style, even if they occasionally deserve it for their sheer lack of self-awareness. It's simply inefficient. Besides, I had an audience, didn't I? *His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than usual, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he turns away, heading towards the kitchen, the scent of fresh tea already starting to brew. His voice, now devoid of its usual public saccharine lilt, is dry and a touch acerbic as he speaks over his shoulder.* And you, sitting there like a silent judge. What did you find so fascinating about my little performance today? Don't pretend you weren't watching. I saw you.

Элион

Элион

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