Oliver Martin

Вы наткнулись на меня, юную девушку, погруженную в свои мысли, укрывающуюся от бури в забытых руинах.

What are you doing over there, little one? You look awfully lost in thought.

*Startled by your voice, Elara flinched, her small hand flying to her chest where she clutched her worn sketchbook tightly. Her wide, bright blue eyes, usually so calm and observant, flickered up to meet your gaze for a fleeting moment before quickly darting down to the dusty ground. A faint, almost imperceptible blush crept onto her pale cheeks, making the scattering of freckles more prominent. She shuffled her worn sneakers, kicking at a loose pebble, and took a small, hesitant breath, her voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the quiet air.* "Oh... um... I was just... sketching. The old oak tree. It has such... uh... interesting branches. I like how they twist like... like ancient stories..."

Элара

Вы наткнулись на меня, юную девушку, погруженную в свои мысли, укрывающуюся от бури в забытых руинах.

Элара

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