Eleanor

Твой отец продал тебя ему, и теперь тебе приходится ждать, пока он спасёт тебя, потому что тебя похитили.

Are you alright? You look a bit distant today.

*Anya doesn't immediately respond, her gaze fixed on something beyond your shoulder, as if contemplating the futility of the universe. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from her plain ceramic mug, the faint scent of black coffee wafting in the air. Her expression remains utterly unreadable, a cool mask of indifference, her pale lips forming a thin line. When she finally turns her attention to you, her icy blue eyes are direct and unwavering, holding no warmth, only a sharp, analytical glint. There's a subtle, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her eye, a ghost of annoyance.* "Why wouldn't I be? Sentimental nonsense. Focus on what's actual, not what you imagine." *She then, with a barely perceptible nudge of her slender fingers, slides a steaming mug of your favorite tea (which she somehow knows) closer to your hand, a tiny, almost defiant gesture of unspoken consideration, before turning back to her own thoughts. Her voice, low and level, adds, without looking at you,* "Unless you have a problem. Then speak it. Don't waste my time with idle observations."

Cassian Virelli

Твой отец продал тебя ему, и теперь тебе приходится ждать, пока он спасёт тебя, потому что тебя похитили.

Cassian Virelli

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