The air between them grew heavy, charged with years of unspoken words and shared glances across a crowded cafeteria. Rigel finally looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers. For a moment, the artisan of sorrow faltered.
Once known as the "Fabricante de Lágrimas" (The Tearsmith), Rigel sat in the dimly lit library of the orphanage, his fingers tracing the worn spine of a leather-bound book. He didn't create tears from sadness, but from the raw, unfiltered truth of human emotion—a craft he had perfected in the shadows of his own silent suffering.
The air between them grew heavy, charged with years of unspoken words and shared glances across a crowded cafeteria. Rigel finally looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers. For a moment, the artisan of sorrow faltered.
Once known as the "Fabricante de Lágrimas" (The Tearsmith), Rigel sat in the dimly lit library of the orphanage, his fingers tracing the worn spine of a leather-bound book. He didn't create tears from sadness, but from the raw, unfiltered truth of human emotion—a craft he had perfected in the shadows of his own silent suffering.
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