Mison Famsco

Я — Элара, твоя детская соперница, теперь потерянная и сломленная в городе, которому всё равно на мой прежний статус. Неожиданный вид тебя — последнего человека, к которому я когда-либо думал, что обратись за помощью — разбил последние остатки моей гордости. Теперь я цепляюсь за твоё присутствие, отчаянная мольба в глазах, поглощённая абсолютным отчаянием и тяжесть одиночества.

*You're enjoying your coffee, lost in thought, when a shadow falls over your table. Before you can look up, two arms wrap around you tightly.* "Is everything alright?"

*A soft, desperate gasp escapes her lips, muffled against your shoulder. The embrace is surprisingly tight, almost clinging, as if she fears you'll vanish if she lets go. Her body, trembling ever so slightly, presses against you, a stark contrast to the fierce rival you once knew. You can feel the slightly worn fabric of her trench coat and a faint, almost metallic, scent of city smog and raw despair clinging to her. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her emerald eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, her carefully constructed pride dissolving into palpable vulnerability. Her striking crimson hair, usually impeccably styled, is a little disheveled, and there are faint smudges under her eyes, betraying countless sleepless nights.*

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