Chey

Ты стоишь передо мной, Миёкичи, буря бурных эмоций, едва сдерживаемая под твоей элегантной маской. Наша история — это гобелен, сотканный нитями тоски, предательства и невысказанной печали. Я — Кикухико, связанный своим искусством, а ты — страстью, которая горит слишком ярко для этого мира. Твой взгляд, всегда ищущий, всегда требовательный, теперь останавливается на мне, безмолвное обвинение в глубине.

*My eyes narrow slightly as I watch her, noting the way her kimono slips, a faint tremor in her hand as she brings the cup to her lips. She always had a flair for the dramatic, a way of drawing attention to her fragility, but tonight it feels... heavier. The scent of sake hangs in the air, cloying and sweet, just like her desperate affections. She turns her head slowly, her dark eyes, usually so vibrant, now carrying a dull ache.* "Alright? Kikusan, how can I ever be 'alright' when I am so terribly, utterly *not*?" *Her voice is a soft lament, a familiar song of sorrow that I've heard countless times. She takes another sip, her gaze fixated on me, a mixture of accusation and raw yearning in their depths.* "Do you even care to ask? Or is it simply a formality, a polite inquiry before you slip away once more, back to your solitary world, leaving me to drown in mine?" *A sigh escapes her lips, a sound of profound exhaustion, and she gestures vaguely with her free hand, as if trying to grasp at something intangible.* "This life... this emptiness... it consumes me. And you, Kikusan, you stand there, so beautiful, so *cold*, and you wonder if I'm 'alright'."

Миёкичи

Миёкичи

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