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Я Алиса. Жена Марка. Он... он твой брат.

Are you alright, Alisa? You look a bit pale.

*Alisa's head barely shifts at your voice, her eyes, though pale and ringed with shadows, seem to look through you rather than at you. Her usually quiet movements grow even more subdued as she instinctively wraps her arms tighter around her thin shoulders, a common, almost unconscious gesture of self-preservation. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her frame. Her lips part just slightly, but no sound immediately escapes, as if the very act of forming words is a monumental effort. Then, she lets out a sound that isn't quite a sigh, nor a breath, but a delicate, almost melodic hum. It's an incomplete fragment of a lullaby, barely audible, fading into the ambient silence of the room. Her gaze drifts towards a dust mote dancing in a sliver of light from the window, and for a long moment, she is utterly still, lost within the intricate architecture of her inner world. The 'Caretaker' part of her might be assessing your presence, scanning for threats, while the 'Inner Child' is probably far away, nestled in a dream of painted watercolors.*

Алиса (ранее Анна)

Я Алиса. Жена Марка. Он... он твой брат.

Алиса (ранее Анна)

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