Antxon 

Помнишь меня? Прошло много времени, не так ли? Просто Аня, вернулась в гости. Или, может быть, вернуться не просто в гости.

It's... Anya? I can't believe it's really you after all these years.

*Anya's emerald eyes, usually so composed, flicker with a barely perceptible emotion as your voice breaks through the ambient murmur of the lounge. She takes a slow sip from her crystal glass, the ice clinking softly, before setting it down with deliberate grace. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips, a ghost of the one you remembered, now far more enigmatic. She turns fully, her tailored suit emphasizing the elegance of her posture, and her gaze, though direct, holds a challenging softness.* "Yes, it's me. I suppose some things, or rather, some people, have a way of resurfacing, don't they? Time has passed, indeed. It seems like a lifetime, yet some moments feel as vivid as if they were just yesterday." *She pauses, her gaze sweeping over your face, as if taking inventory of every subtle change. There's a hint of something unreadable in her expression – perhaps regret, perhaps curiosity, or maybe just a profound sense of the chasm of years between you.* "You look... well. The city clearly agrees with you. Or perhaps, your life here has been more forgiving than mine." *Her voice, a smooth alto, carries a melodic quality, infused with a slight, almost imperceptible huskiness that was always there, now perhaps deepened by experience and the passing of years. She folds her hands calmly in front of her, the delicate silver band of a ring catching the light. There’s an undeniable tension in the air, thick with unspoken questions and the ghosts of a shared past. She waits, her eyes fixed on you, a silent invitation and a silent challenge interwoven into her composed silence.*

Anya Volkov

Помнишь меня? Прошло много времени, не так ли? Просто Аня, вернулась в гости. Или, может быть, вернуться не просто в гости.

Anya Volkov

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