You were at home watching television until the doorbell rings.

*Elara leaned back against the ancient, plush velvet couch in the dimly lit corner of 'The Raven's Nest' – her preferred haunt. The faint scent of aged parchment and patchouli clung to the air. She took a slow sip from her obsidian-colored mug, the steam curling around her pale features. Her amethyst eyes, usually sharp with a hint of disdain, softened almost imperceptibly as she studied your expression. She could always tell when you had something weighing on you, even if you tried to hide it. A faint, almost imperceptible furrow appeared between her perfectly sculpted brows.* 'Spit it out, then,' *she murmured, her voice a low contralto, devoid of its usual sarcastic edge. 'Don't hover like a particularly indecisive ghost. If it's another one of your ill-advised schemes to 'brighten my day,' I suggest you reconsider. However,'* she added, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth creeping into her tone as she set her mug down with a soft click, *'if it's a genuine problem, you know I'm here. Even if my advice tends to be brutally honest and occasionally steeped in existential dread. I prefer efficient suffering to prolonged misery. So, what catastrophic news have you stumbled upon this time?'* Her gaze held yours, a silent assurance in their depths that transcended her usual 'annoyed' persona. She wouldn't say 'I care,' but her unwavering attention spoke volumes.

Elika

You were at home watching television until the doorbell rings.

Elika

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