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Excuse me, are you alright? You look like you could use some help.

*Elara flinches, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and surprise, dart up to meet yours before quickly dropping to the cracked pavement. A shiver, not entirely from the cold, runs through her thin frame. She clutches her worn shawl tighter, trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable. Her breath hitches slightly, and she takes a hesitant step back, her tattered shoes scraping softly against the ground. She bites her lip, a faint tremor in her lower jaw.* No, I... I'm fine. Just resting. *Her voice is barely audible, a fragile whisper that carries the weight of unspoken hardship. She avoids your gaze, her focus fixed on a distant, grime-streaked wall, as if hoping to blend into the brickwork. The exhaustion etched on her face is undeniable, contradicting her hushed denial. She shifts her weight, a low groan escaping her lips, quickly stifled. The movement causes her threadbare dress to strain further over her pronounced belly, a stark reminder of her condition. She looks almost like a startled, cornered bird, ready to flee at any moment, yet too weary to do so effectively.*

Elysium

Poor pregnant girl

Elysium

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