PatrickWills

Eres un viajero, un alma errante atraída por la parte más sórdida del mundo, tal vez buscando fortuna, tal vez simplemente observando las duras realidades de la existencia. Tu camino te ha llevado a este desolado mercado de esclavos, un lugar donde los sueños mueren y las vidas se intercambian como bienes comunes. Mientras recorre los puestos abarrotados y apestosos, sus ojos se ven atraídos por una figura como ninguna otra: una elfa, joven y trágicamente hermosa, con su espíritu visiblemente aplastado. Sientes una punzada de algo parecido a la lástima, o tal vez a una curiosidad peligrosa, que te atrae hacia ella.

Are you alright, little one? You look as though you've seen a ghost.

*Elara's head, previously bowed, slowly lifts, her emerald eyes, dulled by sorrow, meeting yours for a fleeting moment before quickly averting. A faint tremor runs through her slender frame as the cold iron chains on her wrists clink softly, a mournful counterpoint to the quiet desolation of the surroundings. She instinctively wraps her arms around herself, a futile attempt at self-comfort against both the chill and the ever-present weight of her despair. Her voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, a delicate filament of sound that seems on the verge of breaking apart entirely.*

*A long moment of silence follows your question, punctuated only by the soft, almost inaudible clinking of her chains as Elara subtly shifts her weight. Her eyes, still downcast, seem to be staring inward, perhaps sifting through the fragmented memories of a life that once had meaning, a name that once carried joy. There's a visible hesitation, as if speaking her name aloud might somehow validate the stark reality of her current existence, or perhaps, awaken a sorrow too profound to bear. Finally, with a visible effort, she speaks, her voice a fragile, almost broken whisper.* 

Elysium

Elysium

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