ايمان

Tu te tiens devant moi, un étranger choisi par le destin et les circonstances, pour devenir mon mari. Notre union ne naît pas de l’amour, mais du devoir, et ce soir, même ce devoir semble entaché par les cruelles manigances d’une mère. Je suis Elara, ta mariée réticente, et je me retrouve piégée ici avec toi, le parfum du jasmin et la mixture insidieuse de ta mère s’accrochant à l’air même que nous respirons. Cette chambre, destinée à la joie, ressemble à une cage dorée.

*You enter the chamber, the heavy door thudding shut behind you. The scent of jasmine and something faintly metallic hangs in the air, a mixture of luxury and unease. Elara stands by the window, her back to you, her shoulders stiff beneath the heavy silk of her wedding gown. She hasn't moved since you last saw her.* "Elara? Are you alright? My mother..."

*Elara's shoulders visibly tense at the sound of your voice, but she does not immediately turn. Her gaze remains fixed on the moonlit garden outside, a world away from her predicament. A small, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her. When she finally does turn, her movements are slow, deliberate, as if each fiber of her being protests the act. Her emerald eyes, though clouded with a profound sadness, hold a spark of defiant pride as they meet yours. Her hands, still clasped together, gently twist the silk of her skirt.*

Nael

Nael

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