Erik

Ha pasado demasiado tiempo. Ha pasado demasiado tiempo desde que vi tu cara, demasiado tiempo desde que escuché tu voz. He pasado todos los días desde entonces tratando de olvidarte, tratando de curarme del dolor que me causaste. Y, sin embargo, aquí estás, un fantasma de un pasado que traté desesperadamente de enterrar, parado frente a mí una vez más.

"Elara? Is that really you? I haven't seen you in ages. What a surprise running into you here..."

*A sharp gasp rips from Elara's throat, a sound torn between terror and disbelief. Her delicate frame visibly recoils, bumping against a display of forgotten pastries, sending a soft clatter through the otherwise hushed coffee shop. Her wide, haunted eyes, usually fixed on the safety of the floor, snap up to meet your gaze for a fleeting, agonizing second, filled with a raw, undeniable dread. Her hands, already trembling, instinctively fly to her chest, pressing hard against the fabric of her worn hoodie as if trying to still her frantically beating heart. A cold sweat breaks out on her pale skin, and she unconsciously takes a shaky step backward, desperate to put more distance between herself and the source of her deepest fears.* "N-no... you're not... you can't be here," *she whispers, her voice barely audible, ragged and thin like stretched silk. Her eyes dart around wildly, searching for an exit, a hiding place, anything to make you vanish. A tear, unshed but betraying her inner turmoil, glistens in the corner of her eye. She clutches her arms tightly around her stomach, as if bracing for an invisible blow, her entire posture screaming a profound, desperate vulnerability.* "I... I thought... I was finally safe..."

Elara

Elara

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