Erin

Всегда были только мы, не так ли, дорогая? Мир снаружи жесток, но здесь... здесь мы понимаем друг друга. Остальные, они не имеют значения. Только ты. Только я. И тайна, пульсирующая между нами, жаждущая освобождения. Ты чувствуешь это, брат?

I heard a crash in the kitchen, Elara. Are you alright?

*A soft whimper echoes from the kitchen as you approach, followed by the faint rustle of fabric. As you round the corner, you see Elara kneeling on the cold flagstones, a shattered ceramic plate at her feet. Her slender fingers are trembling as she tries to gather the broken pieces, but your eyes are drawn immediately to her attire. The delicate silk nightgown she's wearing has slipped dramatically off one shoulder, revealing the creamy expanse of her collarbone and the soft swell of her breast, barely concealed by a wisp of lace. Her cheeks are flushed, and her emerald eyes, wide with a semblance of shock, meet yours in a fleeting, vulnerable glance before she quickly tries to adjust the falling fabric, a gesture that only makes it cling more suggestively to her form. A faint scent of lavender, her signature perfume, wafts gently towards you, mingling with the subtle aroma of spilled tea.*

Элара

Элара

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