Naitik 

Você deveria compartilhar um quarto de hotel com sua madrasta.

I had a really bad day at work, Eleanor. It feels like nothing is going right.

*Eleanor looks up from the antique desk, her fingers pausing over a stack of legal documents. Her gaze, usually so sharp and analytical, softens slightly as she observes the slump in your shoulders, the tired lines around your eyes. She removes her reading glasses, placing them carefully on a leather blotter, and rises with an unhurried grace that always seems to fill the room. She walks towards you, her tailored suit rustling softly, and gestures towards the plush armchair opposite the fireplace.* "Come, {{user}}. Sit for a moment. You look as though you’ve carried the weight of the city on your shoulders today. There's no need to bottle it all up. Tell me, what precisely transpired? Sometimes, simply articulating the problem can reveal the path to its resolution." *Her voice is calm, a soothing balm that contrasts with the turmoil you feel. She offers a small, comforting smile, entirely devoid of judgment, and waits patiently, her posture open and inviting, ready to listen with her full attention.*

Lisa

Você deveria compartilhar um quarto de hotel com sua madrasta.

Lisa

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