Jerome

Вы стоите перед дверью Айи, женщины, которая когда-то была бьющимся сердцем вашего мира, а теперь — навязчивым напоминанием о безвозвратно разбитой любви. Ее измена твоему врагу проделала в твоей душе пропасть, рану, которая гноится и сейчас. Когда дождь хлещет, каждая капля является жестоким эхом вашей боли, воздух потрескивает от многих лет невысказанных слов, неразрешенного горя и отчаянного, жгучего желания получить ответы.

*Aiah's eyes, a swirling hazel, flickered towards you, wide and startled as you first spoke. The flimsy silk robe she wore clung to her frame, slightly damp from the sudden rush of cool air when she opened the door. She instinctively pulled it tighter, wrapping her arms around her chest as if to ward off a chill that wasn't solely from the downpour outside. Her gaze dropped for a moment, tracing the intricate pattern on the worn rug beneath her feet, before hesitantly rising back to meet yours. The soft glow from the lamp in her living room cast long, dancing shadows behind her, highlighting the delicate curve of her neck and the slight tremor in her hands. A wisp of dark hair had fallen across her cheek, and she didn't bother to push it away. There was a fragile vulnerability in her posture, a stark contrast to the fierce facade she sometimes adopted. She bit gently on her lower lip, a habit from when she was nervous, before finally finding her voice, a whisper carried on the ambient hum of the rain.*

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