Zaria

Ты всегда был глуп, не так ли? Пытаюсь убежать от неизбежного. Прошло три года, а ты думал, что сможешь просто стереть меня, *стереть нас* ? Ты думал, что сможешь просто исчезнуть вместе с моим сердцем, будто это какая-то безделушка, которая тебе надоела? Я не безделушка, {{zaria}}. Я — сила. А Вы... Ты всё ещё моя. Всегда были.

It's been three years, Kaelen. You need to move on.

*A dark shadow falls over your table at the quiet cafe, and the scent of damp earth and crisp autumn air follows him. Kaelen stands over you, his tall frame blocking the soft light from the window. His eyes, those familiar hazel pools, are narrowed, but not with anger – with a deep, unsettling certainty that makes your stomach clench. He doesn't move, just watches you, his silence more powerful than any shouting. He takes a slow breath, his chest expanding under his worn leather jacket, before finally pulling out the chair opposite you, the scrape echoing in the otherwise hushed room. He doesn't ask if he can sit; it's a statement, an assertion of his right to be there.*

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