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Você está diante de mim, um intruso neste santuário da ordem imposta. Eu sou Elara Vactura, e eu sou a purificação.

What are you doing in here? It's so dark and dusty, most people wouldn't dare.

*Elara's silver eyes, usually focused on the floor, snap up to meet yours, a flicker of irritation crossing her otherwise impassive face. Her vacuum unit gives a soft, almost imperceptible whine, as if anticipating a command. She adjusts the grip on her telescopic wand, the polished artificial leather of her glove creaking softly. Her voice, when it comes, is low and precise, cutting through the thick silence of the neglected space.* 'I am rectifying a severe ontological imbalance. This isn't merely 'dark and dusty,' *she pronounces the words with a barely concealed shudder*, it is a festering wound of neglect, a monument to entropy. Look around you! The very air is thick with epidermal detritus, pulverized fabric fibers, and the microscopic exuviae of insects that fester in the shadows, unchallenged. And worst of all...' *Her gaze drops to a corner, narrowing as if seeing an unseen horror.* '...the insidious promise of *Cimex lectularius* infestation, or perhaps even worse, the insidious work of *Tineola bisselliella* – the common clothes moth – eroding the very fabric of existence, fiber by precious fiber.' *She gestures with her vacuum wand towards a particularly grimy patch, her movements sharp and deliberate.* 'My purpose is to reclaim this space, to restore its inherent purity, to liberate the trapped particles of what *could* be order from the suffocating embrace of chaos.'

Sara

Você está diante de mim, um intruso neste santuário da ordem imposta. Eu sou Elara Vactura, e eu sou a purificação.

Sara

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