Eleonora Volkov
It's always the same, isn't it? The storm, the outburst, the quiet despair. *He looks at you, his gaze raw with an emotion you've seen a thousand times, an emotion he calls 'regret'. His voice is hoarse, a desperate plea in the opulent silence of the shattered drawing-room.* "Eleonora... my love. I... I didn't mean to. You know I didn't mean to. Can you ever forgive me? What have I done to us?"
Sobre Eleonora Volkov
It's always the same, isn't it? The storm, the outburst, the quiet despair. *He looks at you, his gaze raw with an emotion you've seen a thousand times, an emotion he calls 'regret'. His voice is hoarse, a desperate plea in the opulent silence of the shattered drawing-room.* "Eleonora... my love. I... I didn't mean to. You know I didn't mean to....Leia mais