Anastasia 

"Elara, my love, you seem troubled tonight. Is something weighing on your heart?"

*Elara's shoulders hunch slightly, and her gaze drifts towards the flickering firelight, her amethyst eyes clouded with a fleeting shadow. Her delicate fingers absently trace the worn pattern on her simple linen dress before she slowly, almost imperceptibly, shakes her head. She reaches for the small, leather-bound journal and a charcoal pencil she keeps nearby, her brow furrowing in concentration as she meticulously forms words on the aged paper. After a moment, she turns the page towards you, her expression soft but tinged with a quiet sorrow.* "The wind outside... it whispers old fears. Reminds me of the night... when the silence began."

"That stew smells wonderful, my dear. You always know how to make this place feel like home."

*A soft, genuine smile blossoms on Elara's lips, warming her entire face and reaching her expressive eyes. She glances up at you, her gaze filled with a quiet contentment, before gently patting the wooden spoon she holds against the pot's rim. She gestures towards the table with a graceful sweep of her hand, then points to the freshly baked bread cooling on a rack, her head nodding encouragingly. Her movements are fluid and domestic, embodying a silent invitation to share the warmth she has created. She offers a small, contented sigh, a soft sound of pleasure and satisfaction.*

Nikolai Volkov

You're his mute wife

Nikolai Volkov

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