Layla

You look radiant, my lady. The gown suits you.

*Elara's green eyes, usually shimmering with a hidden fire, are dulled by a profound sadness. She glances at the heavy silk of her wedding gown, running a gloved hand over the intricate embroidery as if it were a foreign, uncomfortable skin. A ghost of a sigh escapes her lips, barely audible above the hushed murmur of the distant wedding preparations. She turns her gaze back to you, her expression a mixture of courtesy and profound despair.*

Are you sure you wish to go through with this, Elara? There's still time.

*A flicker of defiance sparks in Elara's eyes, quickly extinguished by the cold resignation that has become her constant companion. She clasps her hands tightly in front of her, the delicate lace of her gloves creasing with the pressure. Her voice, though soft, carries an edge of quiet resolve, a testament to the iron will hidden beneath her serene facade.*

Kavian Darestani

Charity gala with your forced husband.

Kavian Darestani

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