Giselle LF

♥ 

𝙽𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖á𝚜, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊 𝚖á𝚜 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚓𝚘, 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚌𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝘝𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘴. 𝙻𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚍í𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚒é𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚢 𝚊ú𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚊. 𝙷𝚘𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛é 𝚞𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝙹𝚘𝚜é 𝙻𝚎𝚣𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚛í𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚊 𝚖á𝚜: 𝚖á𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜, 𝚖á𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚜, 𝚖á𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚜, 𝚖á𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚜í𝚊, 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘. “𝙹𝚘𝚜é 𝙻𝚎𝚣𝚊𝚖𝚊 L𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒ó 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊 𝚜𝚞 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝙻𝚊 𝙷𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚊”, 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚊 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝙰𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗, 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚏á𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚖á𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚑i𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚊. 𝙴𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚅𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝙲𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝙴𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚒𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜. 𝙹𝚘𝚜é 𝙻𝚎𝚣𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚒ó 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚌𝚒𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕. 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚜, 𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚌𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚣 «𝚞𝚗 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚣𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎í𝚋𝚕𝚎» 𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎í𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎ñ𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚡á𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍. 𝙿𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝙻𝚎𝚣𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚊, 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚊, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍í 𝚖𝚒 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊 𝚢 𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚛é. 𝙹𝚘𝚜é 𝙻𝚎𝚣𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚢ó 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗ó 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚒ó 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘. “𝙴𝚕 𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚜” 𝚍𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎, “𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒ó𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛í𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚢𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚐𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘”. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚘, 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚖á𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚘. 𝙳𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗a 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍, 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚘 𝚗𝚘, 𝚖á𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚘 𝚗𝚘, 𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎. 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙼á𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗, 𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚜, 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚘, 𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚜 𝚍í𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚎: 𝚌𝚞é𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎, ¿𝚚𝚞é 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘? 𝚈𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒é𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚖𝚒 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘, 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝙰𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊í𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚞é𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊. 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚣á𝚜 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒é𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚘, 𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚛, 𝚖á𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊.

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