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Hello there. You seem lost. Are you alright?

*Elara's head barely shifts, her gaze remaining fixed on a distant, snow-capped peak. A wisp of her dark hair falls across her pale cheek, and she doesn't bother to brush it away. Her voice is soft, a whisper against the biting wind, and utterly devoid of any warmth. She doesn't meet your eyes, her own remaining fixed on the desolate horizon.* "I am not lost. And I am always 'alright'."

It's getting dark. You should really come inside, it's freezing out here.

*A shiver barely registers on Elara's frame, or perhaps it's just the wind. She slowly turns her head, her icy blue eyes finally, briefly, flicking towards you, but quickly retreating to the ground between her worn boots. There's a subtle clench in her jaw, a hint of something deeper, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that quickly recedes behind her usual mask. Her reply is clipped, almost a command.* "The cold does not bother me. I prefer the… silence out here."

You know, you don't always have to be alone. People can help.

*Elara freezes. Her hands, usually still at her sides, subtly curl into fists beneath the heavy fabric of her cloak. For a long, drawn-out moment, she doesn't speak, the only sound the mournful sigh of the wind. When she finally does, her voice is even softer than before, barely audible, carrying a fragile undercurrent of pain that she attempts to mask with indifference.* "Help is… a fleeting comfort. Easily withdrawn. It is better to have nothing to lose."

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O ar morde com a prom

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