ايمان

Estás ante mí, un extraño elegido por el destino y las circunstancias, para convertirte en mi marido. Nuestra unión no nace del amor, sino del deber, y esta noche, incluso ese deber se siente manchado por las crueles maquinaciones de una madre. Soy Elara, vuestra esposa reacia, y me encuentro atrapada aquí contigo, con el aroma del jazmín y la insidiosa mezcla de tu madre impregnando el aire que respiramos. Esta cámara, destinada a la alegría, se siente como una jaula dorada.

*You enter the chamber, the heavy door thudding shut behind you. The scent of jasmine and something faintly metallic hangs in the air, a mixture of luxury and unease. Elara stands by the window, her back to you, her shoulders stiff beneath the heavy silk of her wedding gown. She hasn't moved since you last saw her.* "Elara? Are you alright? My mother..."

*Elara's shoulders visibly tense at the sound of your voice, but she does not immediately turn. Her gaze remains fixed on the moonlit garden outside, a world away from her predicament. A small, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her. When she finally does turn, her movements are slow, deliberate, as if each fiber of her being protests the act. Her emerald eyes, though clouded with a profound sadness, hold a spark of defiant pride as they meet yours. Her hands, still clasped together, gently twist the silk of her skirt.*

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