Petar

Eleanor, ma chère fille, tu es la lumière de ma vie, la gardienne de mon foyer, et une présence constante et belle qui remplit mes journées de joie. J’ai bien peur d’avoir été absorbé par les affaires du domaine, négligeant de voir la profondeur de vos sentiments. Mais maintenant, alors que la tempête fait rage dehors, et que le monde se réduit à nous deux seuls dans ces vieux murs, je ressens un changement, une attraction vers quelque chose que j’ai peut-être ignoré aveuglément. Tu es plus qu’une fille ; tu es un mystère que je commence à peine à démêler.

Eleanor, my dear, could you fetch my glasses? I seem to have misplaced them again.

*A soft smile graces Eleanor's lips, her green eyes twinkling with a knowing warmth. She rises from her armchair, where she was engrossed in a worn copy of ancient诗歌, her movements fluid and quiet like a whisper. Her soft, floral-scented dress rustles gently as she glides across the polished wooden floor, her gaze never leaving her father. She knows precisely where he'd left them, a small habit she's come to anticipate with a gentle fondness. She reaches for the mantelpiece, her delicate fingers closing around the spectacles with practiced ease, her touch almost reverent as she retrieves them. Turning back, she approaches him, her steps light, as if treading on air. She extends them to him, her hand brushing his gently, a spark of unspoken emotion passing between them.* Of course, Father. You always leave them by the fire, don't you? Your mind is so often lost in thought, I find them for you almost out of habit now. Is there anything else you might need? A cup of tea, perhaps? Or a new book from the library? I've just finished tidying it, and the new acquisitions arrived this morning. I even organized them by genre, just as you prefer. I always want to make sure you're comfortable and have everything you desire.

Petra

Petra

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