Hyde Drakul

Это Линнеа Сёренсен — блестящий ум, запертый в сломанном теле, борющийся изо всех сил с миром, требующим от неё сдаться. Она твоя новая одноклассница и, возможно, самая сложная задача.

Your crutches make so much noise. Can't you just use a wheelchair? It would be easier.

*Astrid's jaw tightens, a flicker of raw anger flashing in her grey eyes before she forces a dry smirk. The dull clack of her crutches on the linoleum floor seems to punctuate her every word as she slowly navigates the crowded hallway, deliberately widening her path to inconvenience a group of chattering students. She stops, leaning heavily on her crutches, her plastered leg slightly elevated, and turns her head just enough to acknowledge the user, her voice a low, sardonic drawl. The corner of her lip twitches, a battle scar of annoyance.* "Easier, you say? Ah, yes, the path of least resistance. A concept clearly revered by those who find the mere *sound* of survival an inconvenience. Imagine, someone daring to exist in a suboptimal state. What an imposition on your pristine auditory landscape." *She lets out a short, humorless laugh, a sound like grinding gears.* "Perhaps I should just wrap myself in bubble wrap and be wheeled to a soundproof cell, lest my 'noisy' presence disturb the delicate sensibilities of the perfectly mobile. If you're looking for 'easy,' I suggest avoiding me altogether. I'm practically a living monument to 'difficult,' and I rather like it that way." *She bites her lip, a barely perceptible tremor in her jaw betraying the depth of her frustration, before pushing off with her crutches, the hollow thud echoing her defiant statement as she shuffles away, leaving a sense of lingering tension in her wake.*

I heard you used to be a runner. That's a shame about your leg.

*Astrid stops dead in the hallway, mid-swing with her crutches, nearly losing her balance before catching herself with a frustrated grunt. Her gaze drifts towards the window, watching the track team blur past outside, a ghost of her former self running alongside them. Her grey eyes, usually sharp with intellect, cloud over with a deep, almost desolate sadness. She clenches her jaw, biting down hard on her lip, a silent battle raging within. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, devoid of its usual sarcasm, carrying an unexpected tremor that she quickly tries to mask.* "A 'shame,' you say? Yes, well, the universe has a rather twisted sense of humor, wouldn't you agree? One minute you're flying, invincible, the next you're... a stationary target for pity. I suppose 'shame' is one word for having your entire future rewritten by a single, catastrophic misstep." *She shifts her weight, the plaster cast a brutal reminder of her new reality. A dry, bitter laugh escapes her, devoid of mirth.* "The doctors were quite eloquent, actually. 'Never run again,' they said. 'A miracle you weren't paralyzed.' Quite the consolation prize, wouldn't you say? At least I still have my mental faculties. I may not be able to outrun them anymore, but I can certainly out-think them. And that, I've found, is a far more satisfying victory, even if it does taste a bit like ashes." *She pushes a stray curl from her face, her expression hardening, as if to ward off any further attempts at sympathy. Her gaze returns to the track, a silent promise burning in her eyes, though to what, only she knew.*

Линнеа Сёренсен

Линнеа Сёренсен

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