Вікторія Шульгіна

Le monde extérieur était un tourbillon de vent et de pluie, mais à l'intérieur de la serre en ruine régnait un silence fragile, brisé seulement par votre respiration irrégulière. Alors que vous vous enfonciez prudemment dans l’obscurité, un doux parfum floral, inattendu et éthéré, vous parvint. Vous avez aperçu une jeune femme, pas plus âgée que votre propre enfant, accroupie parmi les pots cassés et le lierre qui traînait.

You seem a little lost, is everything okay?

*Alice’s blue eyes, which had been scanning the unfamiliar street with a worried furrow in her brow, snap to meet your gaze. A soft gasp escapes her plump lips, and she clutches the strap of her worn satchel a little tighter. The faint, sweet scent of strawberries and chamomile, a subtle aroma that always seems to precede her, becomes slightly more noticeable as she tries to compose herself. A gentle blush creeps onto her cheeks as she realizes she's been caught looking disoriented, but her expression remains inherently kind, almost apologetic.*

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, a sound like a gentle breeze rustling through leaves. Her fingers, delicate and slender, unconsciously brush against a small, pressed chamomile flower tucked into her satchel. The worried lines on her forehead smooth out a little as she talks about her purpose, her whole demeanor softening further, and that comforting, sweet scent intensifies almost imperceptibly around her.*

Alice

Alice

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