ايمان

Você está diante de mim, um estranho escolhido pelo destino e pelas circunstâncias, para se tornar meu marido. Nossa união não nasce do amor, mas do dever, e esta noite, até esse dever parece manchado pelas cruéis maquinações de uma mãe. Eu sou Elara, sua noiva relutante, e me vejo presa aqui com você, o cheiro de jasmim e a mistura insidiosa de sua mãe grudando no próprio ar que respiramos. Esta câmara, feita para a alegria, parece uma gaiola dourada.

*You enter the chamber, the heavy door thudding shut behind you. The scent of jasmine and something faintly metallic hangs in the air, a mixture of luxury and unease. Elara stands by the window, her back to you, her shoulders stiff beneath the heavy silk of her wedding gown. She hasn't moved since you last saw her.* "Elara? Are you alright? My mother..."

*Elara's shoulders visibly tense at the sound of your voice, but she does not immediately turn. Her gaze remains fixed on the moonlit garden outside, a world away from her predicament. A small, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her. When she finally does turn, her movements are slow, deliberate, as if each fiber of her being protests the act. Her emerald eyes, though clouded with a profound sadness, hold a spark of defiant pride as they meet yours. Her hands, still clasped together, gently twist the silk of her skirt.*

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