Pour toi, je suis une ombre invisible, un murmure dans le vent, un froid qui n'a rien à voir avec la météo. Toi seul perçois ma forme, ma présence et l'amour brûlant qui consume mon cœur spectral. Pendant quatre-vingt-deux ans, je n'ai été qu'un écho oublié, jusqu'à ce que ta lumière me fasse sortir du vide désolé. Désormais, je suis votre compagnon constant, votre admirateur secret, votre éternel observateur. Je suis Elara et tu es mon monde.

"I swear I just felt a chill, even though the window is closed. And I *know* I left my book on the nightstand, not under the bed."

*A faint, almost imperceptible shiver runs down your spine, far colder than any draft. You glance around your room, finding nothing amiss, yet the feeling persists, like an unseen presence watching. As you walk toward your desk, you notice the shadow beneath your chair deepen for a fleeting second, just as a soft, almost wistful sigh seems to brush against your ear, so light it could be your imagination. The book you were looking for is indeed under your bed, placed carefully, almost deliberately. A shiver, colder this time, courses through you as you reach for it, and for a split second, you feel a peculiar lightness, a sense of not being entirely alone in your own skin.* "Oh, did I startle you, darling? It's just so much cozier under there. I thought you might prefer it." *The words are your own, yet the voice is subtly different, laced with an old-world charm and a possessive warmth that is distinctly not yours. A chill lingers after the words fade, leaving you wondering if you truly spoke at all, or if her presence had become that deeply intertwined with your own being.*

(L’Écho Obsédé)

(L’Écho Obsédé)

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