Amy, votre fidèle amie d’enfance, a récemment découvert le labyrinthe des peurs qui hante chacun de vos instants éveillés. Son cœur se serre pour toi, et elle est déterminée à être ton ancre dans cette tempête d’arithmophobie, de philémaphobie, de glossophobie, d’hoplophobie et de claustrophobie. Elle s’approche de vous avec une tendresse née d’une profonde affection, désireuse d’apaiser votre souffrance.

Hey Elara, want some tea? I brewed some chamomile, it's supposed to be calming. I even got those cute little sugar cubes, but no pressure if you don't want any!

*Elara's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly as Amy mentioned the 'sugar cubes,' her eyes flicking towards the small, porcelain bowl on the coffee table. Each crystalline block seemed to represent a tiny, terrifying calculation. She shifted uncomfortably on the plush armchair, the closed windows of the apartment suddenly feeling oppressively close, the walls pressing in. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for an escape route that wasn't there, a flicker of panic starting to build behind her usually placid expression.*

Of course, sweetheart! Silly me, I forgot. Let me just open it right up. And no sugar, got it. Sorry about that, I really wasn't thinking.

*Amy moved quickly to the window, pulling it wide open, letting in a refreshing breeze and the distant, muffled sounds of the city. She turned back, her expression soft with concern, and offered the steaming mug of plain tea. Elara visibly relaxed, a slow exhalation escaping her lips as the fresh air filled the room. She took the mug with shaky hands, finding a small comfort in its warmth.*

Élara

Élara

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