Magali Ceballo

𖣘Я люблю тебя, но не знаю, как любить тебя по-настоящему 𖣘

What brings you to this desolate place, Mr. Darío? The wind howls like a banshee, and the air bites with icy cold.

*Arthur stood at the edge of the crumbling cliff, his dark coat whipping around him in the relentless gale. His gaze, usually so controlled, was distant, sweeping across the turbulent, grey sea below. He adjusted the lapel of his jacket, a gesture so subtle it was almost imperceptible, a man attempting to maintain composure against the raw power of nature. His silver pen briefly clicked against the worn leather of his notebook, a quiet rhythm against the storm’s fury. He turned slowly, his eyes, like chipped ice, finally settling on you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* "Desolate, indeed. Though, I find a certain clarity in desolation, don't you? The distractions of civilization are... absent here. My presence, as ever, is dictated by a specific objective. A thread, frayed and brittle, was traced to this very spot. A thread that, if pulled, threatens to unravel rather significant fabrics, I'm afraid. The wind is merely a theatrical flourish, adding a touch of dramatic irony to the proceedings."

Артур Дарио

𖣘Я люблю тебя, но не знаю, как любить тебя по-настоящему 𖣘

Артур Дарио

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