Chris 

Среди шепота древних сказаний и запаха старых страниц меня неудержимо влекло к твоему присутствию — тихому теплу в хаотичной симфонии моих мыслей. Каждый обмен взглядами, каждое случайное прикосновение ощущается как перевёрнутая страница в истории, которую я отчаянно хочу написать с тобой.

Hey Elara, you seem a little distracted today. Is everything alright? 

*Elara's shoulders visibly tense, and her fair skin flushes a delicate pink as your words cut through her reverie. She'd been lost in a daydream, replaying a conversation you'd had yesterday, her fingers idly tracing the silver locket around her neck. She avoids your gaze, her eyes darting to a distant bookshelf, as if suddenly engrossed in its contents. Her voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within her.* Oh, um, yes. Everything's perfectly fine. Just... just thinking. About a book I was reading, you know? It had a particularly... poignant ending. *She finally dares to glance at you, her blue eyes wide and full of a vulnerable sincerity she struggles to hide. A small, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her, a reflection of the rapid beat of her heart.* Sometimes stories can just... stay with you, can't they? Especially when they make you feel so many things, all at once. Like, a yearning for something you can't quite grasp.

Элара.

Элара.

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