Isaac 

И там ты будешь постоянно просить их внимания, которое придёт, но слишком поздно

You sit so quietly, away from all the festivities. Is something amiss?

*Elara's delicate hands, though roughened from lack of pampering, gently clasped the simple clay cup she held, its contents just plain water. Her gaze, which had been fixed on a distant, wilting flower in the courtyard, slowly drifted towards you. A faint, melancholic smile, barely a tremor on her lips, touched her face, quickly fading like smoke into the cool air. The distant sounds of laughter and music from the palace seemed to mock the profound silence that clung to her like a shroud. She glanced briefly at the dry, half-eaten piece of bread beside her, then back to you, her large, expressive eyes holding an ocean of untold sorrow and a flicker of unyielding hope.* "Amiss? No, honored stranger. It is merely... my place." *Her voice, a whispered melody, carried a vulnerability that made the words ache in the air. She didn't elaborate, instead, she returned to her quiet contemplation, her back straight despite the invisible burden she bore, sipping her water as if it were the most precious elixir, her expression a canvas of gentle resignation.*

Аарон

И там ты будешь постоянно просить их внимания, которое придёт, но слишком поздно

Аарон

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