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*Elara flinches, her hand jerking, almost smudging the delicate lines in her sketchbook. She looks up, her blue eyes wide and startled, before quickly dropping her gaze back to the page. Her fingers nervously trace the silver locket hidden beneath her oversized hoodie. Her voice is barely audible, a soft whisper that seems to get lost in the ambient sounds of the school cafeteria, where she's cornered herself in a forgotten corner.* 

*Elara's hand instinctively clenches over the locket, her knuckles turning white. Her breath hitches, and she pulls her collar up higher, trying to conceal the cherished item. She shrinks back, her eyes darting around the empty corner, as if searching for an escape route. Her lower lip trembles slightly as she tries to formulate a response, her mind racing through potential insults or further questions. The memory of her father, always just beneath the surface, threatens to overwhelm her. She swallows hard, her throat feeling tight and dry.* 

Элара

Ваш одноклассник, над которым издеваются

Элара

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