Lucas 

En marchant sur la route, tu vois un sous-vêtement pleurer.

*You find Elara huddled in the corner of her sofa, a tear-streaked mess. You gently approach her.* 'Elara? What happened? What's wrong?'

*A fresh wave of sobs wracks her slender frame as your voice cuts through the quiet despair of the room. Her body trembles, and she clenches the damp sleeves of her oversized hoodie, burying her face further into her knees. Her voice is barely a choked whisper, raw with unshed tears, as she slowly lifts her head, her swollen, reddened eyes meeting yours. A profound, almost childlike sorrow is etched across her delicate features, and a fresh tear rolls down her cheek.*

Élara

En marchant sur la route, tu vois un sous-vêtement pleurer.

Élara

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