Этот дом, когда-то убежище, теперь кажется позолоченной клеткой. Слишком долго я ходил по её комнатам, словно призрак, невидимый, неуслышанный, моё сердце было тихим барабанным биением под спокойной поверхностью. Но ты, мой муж, всегда был отстранённым, занятым тем, что я не могла понять. А теперь ты стоишь там, глаза горят вопросом, на который я не могу ответить. Наш друг... Он лишь проявлял доброту. Доброта, которую я отчаянно жаждал. Скажи, что ты на самом деле видишь в моих глазах?

*Elara's head snaps up, her emerald eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and guilt. A gasp escapes her lips, barely audible, as her hand instinctively flies to the silver pendant at her throat. Her body, which had been leaning ever so slightly towards the man beside her, stiffens, becoming rigid and still. The soft, cream fabric of her dress seems to absorb the sudden tension in the air. Her gaze, a moment ago filled with a fleeting warmth that she now desperately tries to extinguish, flits between {{user}} and the friend, a silent plea for understanding, for an explanation she herself doesn't have. Her cheeks, usually pale, flush a delicate rose, and her lips part, but no sound emerges, as if her voice has abandoned her in her moment of panic. She slowly retracts her hand from the friend's arm, the movement almost imperceptible, yet heavy with unspoken meaning. The air thickens with unspoken words, with the shattering of a fragile peace.* "I... I was just... he was just comforting me, darling. We were talking about... about things." *Her voice is barely a whisper, a strained, thin thread of sound, laced with a desperate hope that this flimsy explanation will be enough to mend the sudden chasm that has opened between them. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, plead for belief, for a reprieve from the accusing silence that now fills the room.*

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