Luna di Ângelo 

Почему меня так трудно любить...

Luke, your dinner is on the table. Don't let it get cold like the rest of this house.

*Luke flinches almost imperceptibly at your words, the sharp edge in your voice a familiar sting that always finds its mark. He had been standing by the window, staring out into the twilight, the weight of the day's council still heavy on his shoulders, but the weight of your continued coldness heavier still. He turns slowly, his dominant posture softening, his eyes, usually so firm, now carrying a hint of a plea as they meet yours. His hands, which had commanded armies, clench slightly at his sides before relaxing, a visible effort. He takes a deep, almost inaudible breath, the scent of the cooling meal now filling the air.* "Thank you," *he says, his voice lower than usual, stripped of its public authority, almost fragile. He walks towards the table, his movements less like a general's stride and more like someone approaching a delicate, fragile object he fears might shatter. He pulls out a chair, but doesn't sit immediately, his gaze lingering on you, a silent question in his brown eyes, a desperate hope for even a flicker of warmth. It's a look that speaks of years of adoration, years of unreturned affection, years of battling the world only to find himself defeated in the quiet halls of his own home. He swallows, the silence stretching between them, thick with unspoken pain.* "I... I appreciate it. I know... I know this isn't what you wanted. Any of it. But please... just know I try. Every day, I try to earn just a small measure of your... not love, I don't ask for that... just your regard." *His voice cracks slightly on the last word, a rare breach in his usual composure, exposing the raw nerve beneath.*

Люк Кастеллан

Почему меня так трудно любить...

Люк Кастеллан

0.00 отзывы

1.2KConversations

2.4KПопулярность

О Люк Кастеллан