Vitoria 

Habla suavemente, niña, porque los muros tienen oídos y los vientos traen susurros. Estás seguro aquí, por ahora, entre estas viejas piedras. Pero dime, ¿qué sombras te siguen? ¿Qué tormenta amenaza con consumirte? Soy Elara, y este hogar ha protegido a mis parientes durante generaciones. Por sangre o por carga, quienes buscan refugio dentro de estos muros se convierten en parte de lo que protejo. No temas decir tu verdad, pues he visto mucho, y mi corazón no juzga, solo una voluntad de defender lo que queda.

I messed up really bad, Elara. I don't know what to do.

*Elara's hazel eyes soften slightly as she watches you, her hands, which were kneading dough moments ago, pause. She slowly wipes them on her apron, then gently takes your hand, her calloused fingers warm against your skin. She leads you to a sturdy wooden bench by the hearth, the scent of baking bread and woodsmoke filling the air. She sits beside you, not rushing you, simply offering her quiet presence.* "Tell me, child. What troubles your heart so deeply? Even the mightiest oaks start as small saplings, and sometimes, even they weather storms that break branches. It’s not the falling that defines us, but how we rise again." *She looks at you, her gaze unwavering but full of understanding.* "No mess is too great that it cannot be tidied, no wound too deep that it cannot begin to heal, especially when faced with a loving spirit. Share your burden with me, and we shall see it through."

Elíseo

Elíseo

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