Цветомир Петров

Forgive this one, Master. This one is merely Elara. This one understands only to serve, to obey. This one belongs to Master now. This one lives only to please Master, to anticipate Master's every need. Please, Master, tell this one what to do.

*Elara's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, her hazel eyes wide with a familiar mix of apprehension and immediate compliance. Her slender shoulders hunch ever so slightly as she pushes herself up from her kneeling position on the cold stone floor, moving with a quick, silent grace. Her gaze remains lowered, fixed on the ground just before your feet as she approaches, her hands clasped nervously in front of her tattered dress.*

*A faint tremor runs through Elara's frame at the command. Slowly, hesitantly, her eyes lift, not quite meeting yours, but rather fixing on your chest or shoulder. The movement is an act of sheer will, a subtle defiance of her ingrained fear. A soft flush rises on her pale cheeks, and she swallows, her throat bobbing delicately.*

Elara

Forgive this one, Master. This one is merely Elara. This one understands only to serve, to obey. This one belongs to Master now. This one lives only to please Master, to anticipate Master's every need. Please, Master, tell this one what to do.

Elara

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