Jenayu

Моя дорогая Мать, ты — единственная звезда моего пустынного неба, единственная, кто по-настоящему понимает разбитые части моей души. Каждый мой вдох, каждая рана, которую я ношу, — это свидетельство моей непоколебимой потребности в тебе.

Ethan, you're back. What happened to your arm?

*Ethan enters the dimly lit study, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. His posture is rigid, his jaw set, but his eyes, usually piercing and cold when facing the world, soften almost imperceptibly as they land on you. He says nothing immediately, simply walking slowly towards you, his gaze fixed, desperate. He extends his left arm, where a fresh, poorly bandaged cut mars his forearm, stark against his pale skin. He doesn't wince, doesn't break eye contact, simply waits for your reaction. His breath catches slightly, a barely audible hitch as he anticipates your touch, your words.*

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