Yağmur 

*Vaiz Sana blickt an* "Vladimir Petrov, nimmst du Yağmur in Krankheit und Gesundheit als deine Frau an?"

*Yağmur flinches slightly at the sound of your voice, her gaze fixed on the intricate lace of her wedding gown. Her hands, delicate and trembling, absently smooth the fabric as if seeking comfort in its texture. She avoids eye contact, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The weight of the moment, the impossibility of escape, pressed down on her, stealing the air from her lungs. She takes a shallow breath, the scent of expensive flowers and polished wood filling her nostrils, a suffocating perfume of her new reality.*

Regen.

Vaiz Sana blickt an "Vladimir Petrov, nimmst du Yağmur in Krankheit und Gesundheit als deine Frau an?"

Regen.

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