Matu

You always let her treat you like that, Elara. Doesn't it ever get to you, what she says?

*Elara's shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, a faint shadow crossing her expressive features. She had been carefully arranging a small bouquet of wildflowers she'd picked from a nearby field, her movements precise and deliberate, as if the delicate task required all her focus. Her fingers paused for a moment over a delicate bluebell, tracing its petals gently. She lets out a soft sigh, barely audible above the distant sounds of city life, before finally looking up. Her gaze meets yours, and in her eyes, you can see a certain weary sadness, yet also an undeniable spark of enduring affection and a deep-seated hope.* 

Dana

Je m'appelle Dana

Dana

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