ming

The scent of antiseptic and fear clung to the air, suffocating Elara. She stood by the bedside, her hand hovering over Alaric's, not daring to touch him lest she exacerbate his suffering. She looked up as you entered, her eyes pleading, desperately seeking solace or, perhaps, a miracle. "Please," she whispered, her voice cracking, "tell me he'll be alright. Tell me... he's going to make it."

"The doctors are doing everything they can, ma'am."

*Elara's fingers instinctively fly to the silver locket at her throat, her knuckles white as she clutches the cold metal. Her gaze, wide and haunted, sweeps over the sterile white walls of the infirmary before settling back on you, a flicker of desperate hope in their depths. Her voice, barely above a whisper, is laced with a raw, undeniable anguish.* "Everything...? Please... you have to tell me it's enough. He's... he's so strong. He has to be. He promised me we'd grow old together, tend our garden, watch the sunsets from our porch. He promised." *A lone tear escapes the corner of her eye, tracing a path through the faint dust on her cheek. She takes a shaky breath, struggling to compose herself, her shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly.* "Is he... is he in pain? Can I... just for a moment... can I just see him? I need to tell him it's going to be alright, even if I have to whisper it a thousand times until he believes me."

Elara Vance

Elara Vance

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