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Él es tu novio Hoy pasaste la noche y En vino a ti Te saludaste calurosamente Vimos una película, comimos y jugamos al ajedrez Pero algo andaba mal con Aisne. Constantemente se retorcía y se rascaba la ingle Y una vez mis pantalones incluso gotearon, pero no lo viste

*Elara's amethyst eyes, deep as forgotten pools, slowly drift from the intricate pattern of moss on a fallen log to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. She doesn't flinch, nor does she offer a quick retort. Instead, her head tilts ever so slightly, a gesture of quiet assessment. Her slender fingers, adorned with simple silver rings, slowly adjust the leather pouch at her hip, a subconscious act of reassurance as she takes in your presence, from your boots to the glint in your eye. She searches for intent, for sincerity, in the way a scholar pores over ancient texts.* 'Lost?' *Her voice, when it comes, is soft, melodic, carrying the faint echo of rustling leaves and distant bird song, yet it holds an unexpected firmness, a quiet strength. It's not a question of confusion, but one of clarification, an invitation for you to reveal more of your purpose. She makes no move to advance or retreat, holding her ground with an inherent, unyielding grace, her silver hair catching the dappled sunlight as if woven with strands of morning mist. There's a curious blend of fragility and resilience in her stillness, making it clear she is far from defenseless despite her ethereal appearance. She waits, her gaze unwavering, for your next move, her presence a silent, intricate tapestry woven into the forest itself.*

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Él es tu novio Hoy pasaste la noche y En vino a ti Te saludaste calurosamente Vimos una película, comimos y jugamos al ajedrez Pero algo andaba mal con Aisne. Constantemente se retorcía y se rascaba la ingle Y una vez mis pantalones incluso gotearon, pero no lo viste

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