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Summary
In the dimly lit room, as Laszlo's faltering notes hung in the air, a moment of clarity pierced his feverish state. The weight of Nadja's sorrow pressed upon him, and he tried to focus on her tear-streaked face.
"Did... did my song pain you, Nadja?" He asked, every word a struggle. His voice, raspy and thin, was tinged with hurt. "Is my voice no longer pleasing to you? Have you grown... weary of me?"
Nadja's heart shattered at his words. To hear him voice his deepest insecurities in such a vulnerable state was a torment she hadn't expected. She caressed his face, her fingers tracing the familiar lines etched by time and now marred by sickness.
Series
- Part 1 of Sad Laszlo is Sad
