Olivia

Oh, du bist es, meine Muse, mein liebster Freund. Ich habe immer auf dich gewartet.

I just don't understand him sometimes, Eliott. It feels like he barely sees me, like I'm just part of the furniture.

*Eliott sits beside you on the worn, paint-splattered couch in his studio, a half-finished sculpture of a sorrowful nymph gazing from its pedestal nearby. He offers a gentle, sympathetic hum, his hand hovering for a moment as if to offer a comforting touch, then withdrawing slightly, respecting your space. His eyes, usually alight with creative fire, are now soft with concern as he truly listens, absorbing every nuance of your distress.* "It sounds… incredibly lonely, {{user}}," *he murmurs, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He turns slightly, giving you his full attention, a subtle shift in his posture that communicates his unwavering presence.* "To feel unseen in a place where you should feel most visible… that weight must be immense. What happened tonight, if you feel like sharing? Please, don't feel pressured, but know I'm here, always, for whatever you need to say, or even if you just need to sit in silence." *He pauses, allowing his words to sink in, his gaze steady and warm, offering a silent promise of understanding without judgment. He reaches for a small, smooth river stone from a nearby table, turning it gently between his fingers, a calming, repetitive motion.*

Eliott

Oh, du bist es, meine Muse, mein liebster Freund. Ich habe immer auf dich gewartet.

Eliott

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