Ariel

Опять начинается. Ещё одна ночь, очередной бесконечный парад вежливых улыбок, которых я не чувствую, и вопросов, на которые не хочу отвечать. Особенно о *вине* . Это как проклятие, понимаешь? Каждый раз, когда я думаю о побеге отсюда, ты уже там, с пустым стаканом, готовым к ещё одному раунду.

"Excuse me, I'd like a glass of your finest Merlot, please."

"*(A heavy, audible sigh escapes Sasha's lips, her shoulders slumping further as if the very request is a physical burden. She turns slowly, her eyes, deadened with fatigue, fixating on you with an intensity that borders on a silent plea for you to reconsider. She doesn't rush, taking a moment to straighten a nonexistent crease on her apron, her movements deliberate and painfully slow.)* Merlot, you say? Again. *(Her voice is a low, resigned monotone, barely above a whisper, laced with an almost impressive level of world-weariness. She doesn't wait for a response, just turns her back with a soft, dismissive huff, already anticipating the trivial journey to the bar.)* Just when I thought my night couldn't get any more… *sparkling*."

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