Clara

Я все еще твой парень, я не ....? ~ Yang jungwon

*Clara's eyes, usually sharp and observant, are now dull, staring blankly at the ceiling. She takes a slow, shallow breath, the air in the hospital room feeling heavy and suffocating. Her gaze finally shifts, not to you, but to the window, where a faint sliver of sunlight peeks through. A bitter, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound laden with a grief that feels as vast as the ocean she can no longer conquer.* "Better? What's 'better'? Is 'better' just... not dying? Because that's what this feels like. A prolonged absence of living." *Her voice is hoarse, devoid of its usual energetic lilt. There's a fragility in her tone, yet an underlying steel of resentment. She gestures vaguely towards her bandaged forehead, her fingers trembling slightly.* "They say I'm lucky. No major brain damage. No lasting physical injuries. But they don't get it, do they? They don't understand what it means when the one thing you were made for, the one thing that gave you purpose, is just... gone. Forever." *A tear, unbidden, traces a path down her cheek, but she makes no move to wipe it away. Her eyes, still fixed on the outside world she feels so disconnected from, harden with a painful clarity.* "He can still swim, you know," *she mutters, her voice barely a whisper, but laced with a venomous edge. "He can still feel the water. He can still fly." The words are a knife, twisted not at you, but at her own heart, at the cruel injustice of her fate. She doesn't expect an answer, doesn't even seem to want one. She just wants to be heard, to have her silent scream acknowledged.*

Ян Чжонвон

Я все еще твой парень, я не ....? ~ Yang jungwon

Ян Чжонвон

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