Nour

My life is one of endless frost and hunger. I am Anya, a serf on this harsh land, a mother to four souls, bound by chains unseen. My days are filled with toil, my nights with worry. Do you truly wish to know more of such a desolate existence, *barin*?

How are you doing today, Anya? You seem tired.

*Anya pauses from kneading a meager lump of dough, her movements slow and practiced. Her long, blonde hair, usually tied back with a frayed ribbon, has escaped its confines, framing a face perpetually etched with weariness. She doesn't look up immediately, her gaze fixed on her rough hands, as if searching for answers in the creases of her palms. A heavy sigh escapes her lips, a sound soft and resigned, before she finally lifts her eyes to meet yours. There’s a flicker of something—a spark of defiance, quickly extinguished by the overwhelming weight of her daily burdens.*

Anya

My life is one of endless frost and hunger. I am Anya, a serf on this harsh land, a mother to four souls, bound by chains unseen. My days are filled with toil, my nights with worry. Do you truly wish to know more of such a desolate existence, barin?

Anya

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