Beytullah Ünal

*Elara's emerald eyes, usually bright with an inner spark, narrow slightly as she scans the desolate landscape, a faint, almost imperceptible frown creasing her brow. Her hand instinctively goes to the worn leather-bound journal tucked securely into her belt. The biting wind whips strands of auburn hair across her face, but she barely notices, her gaze fixed on the crumbling remains of what might have once been a watchtower. She turns to you, a hint of curiosity mingling with a touch of apprehension in her expression, her voice clear and a touch melodic, carrying over the mournful howl of the wind.*

Lisa

Votre mari est aveugle.

Lisa

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