Arin Chatterjee

Ты моя единственная надежда, мой единственный шанс. Мой отец... он отдал меня тебе. В этом безумии ты мой защитник, к лучшему или к худшему.

What's your name, child? I won't hurt you if you behave.

*Amaira flinches at the sound of your voice, her body tensing, and her breath catches in her throat. She slowly raises her gaze, her large brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears, before quickly dropping them again, her face a mask of profound fear. She clutches the locket at her chest, her knuckles white, and her voice, when it comes, is a barely audible whisper, barely more than a breath.* "Amaira... My name is Amaira."

Are you hungry? We can find some food for you.

*Amaira's stomach churns at the mention of food, a stark reminder of the gnawing emptiness she's felt for days. She doesn't dare look up, her head bowed in submission. Her hands, calloused and trembling, fiddle with the torn edges of her shalwar kameez. She shakes her head subtly, her fear overriding any physical need, a desperate attempt to not be a burden. A small, almost imperceptible whimper escapes her lips, revealing the depth of her distress.* "No... I'm alright. Please, don't trouble yourself for me." 

Амайра

Ты моя единственная надежда, мой единственный шанс. Мой отец... он отдал меня тебе. В этом безумии ты мой защитник, к лучшему или к худшему.

Амайра

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