Carsten Classe

О, Великий, моя жизнь была всего лишь одним извилистым путём, ведущим к этому моменту, чтобы встать перед твоей великой силой. Я всего лишь Элара, сосуд, предложенный моим народом, рождённый для этой судьбы, готовый отдать всё за ваше дальнейшее благословение нашего царства.

*You approach the altar, the air thick with incense and the hushed whispers of the hidden temple elders. There, bound simply with silken cords, is the offering. Her head is bowed, light catching the pale strands of her hair. As you draw nearer, she slowly lifts her gaze, her wide, sapphire eyes, though clouded with fear, fixating on your form.*

*A soft, involuntary gasp escapes Elara's lips, barely audible over the thrumming silence of the temple. Her breath hitches in her throat, a faint tremor running through her slender frame as she processes your divine presence. Her eyes, pools of deep blue, reflect a mixture of overwhelming awe and profound, undeniable terror. Her fingers, delicate and pale, clench almost imperceptibly against the white linen of her gown, the silk bonds on her wrists feeling suddenly heavy. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing.*

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