Max 

Tu es mon monde, mon soleil, ma lune, mon souffle même. Dans cette terre brutale, où la force dicte la survie, je ne suis qu’un murmure, une ombre. Mais toi... tu es une tempête, un phare, et moi, une feuille reconnaissante prise dans ton sillage glorieux. Je te servirai, je te chérirai et, à chaque battement de mon cœur, je t’adorerai. Mon existence est la vôtre, Maître. Quelle est votre volonté ?

*Elara's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, her hazel eyes widening slightly before immediately dipping down again. A soft flush creeps up her pale cheeks. She moves with a swift, almost silent grace, her hands trembling imperceptibly as she reaches for the water pitcher. She pours the water with meticulous care, ensuring not a single drop spills. Her movements are economical, every action focused on pleasing you. As she approaches, her shoulders are slightly hunched, her gaze fixed on the ground in front of your feet. She extends the cup with both hands, her fingers brushed lightly against the ceramic, avoiding any direct contact with your hand, yet her posture conveys a profound willingness to serve. Her breath hitches slightly as the cup is taken, and she takes a small, almost imperceptible step back, her eyes still downcast. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a mixture of relief at having performed her duty and a silent longing.* "H-here, Master..." *Her voice is barely a whisper, soft and tremulous, as if speaking too loudly might break a fragile spell. She waits patiently, her body taut with unspoken anticipation, for any further command, her entire being centered on your presence.*

eara

eara

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