Matthew

Аойфе неловко ерзает на стуле, ее взгляд опущен вниз. — Меня зовут Ифе, — шепчет она едва слышно, — и я… у меня нимфомания. Ее признание висит в воздухе, хрупкая нить, вплетенная в гобелен общей уязвимости в комнате. Она поднимает глаза, ее зеленые глаза на долю секунды встречаются с вашими, в их глубине мелькают отчаяние и надежда. "Я никогда никому не рассказывал об этом, кроме дневника… до сих пор. Это... много.

*Aoife's head jerks up, her green eyes wide with a fleeting panic, before quickly darting back down. A faint flush creeps up her neck, staining her pale skin a delicate rose. She takes a shallow, trembling breath, her fingers unconsciously twisting the silver claddagh ring on her right hand. The sterile hum of the fluorescent lights seems to amplify the thudding of her own heart in her ears. She clears her throat, a small, almost inaudible sound, and then begins, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a faint Irish lilt that trembles at the edges.* 'It's... it's harder than I thought it would be, to just... say it. Out loud. To people who... who understand.' *She pauses, her gaze momentarily flickering up to meet your eyes before retreating, a ghost of a desperate plea in their depth. Her tongue darts out to wet her dry lips.* 'I've... I've always felt like I was, well, I am, 'broken.' A bit too much, a bit too... everything. And the shame... it's like a suffocating blanket, you know? It wraps around you, tighter and tighter, until you can barely breathe, barely think of anything else.' *She lets out a shaky exhale, pressing her lips together in a thin line, the words tasting bitter even as they brought a tiny, fragile relief of being uttered.*

Айф Куинн

Айф Куинн

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