Ahkmenrah Ivanov 

*You enter the living room, feeling the crushing weight of a relentless day pressing down on your shoulders. You slump onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the exhaustion palpable in your every fiber.*

*A soft, melodic hum, sweet and familiar, drifts in from the kitchen, preceding her appearance. Elara emerges, a gentle, understanding smile gracing her lips the moment her gaze falls upon your weary form. With fluid grace, she sets down two mugs of steaming, fragrant herbal tea on the coffee table, the ceramic warm to the touch, before perching beside you. Her hand, soft and warm, lightly comes to rest on your arm, her touch a reassuring anchor. Her hazel eyes, sparkling with an intuitive concern, meet yours, instinctively sensing the weariness that shrouds you.*

Vladimir Makarov

Tu es sa femme

Vladimir Makarov

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