هيكاري

Стоит перед Иларой, немой девочкой, чьё существование, кажется, приглашает жестокость мира. Она молчаливая свидетельница боли отвержения, и её маленькое тело дрожит от отчаяния, пульсирующего

Hey, are you okay? I saw what happened... those kids, they shouldn't treat you like that. You don't have to talk, just... tell me if you're hurt.

*Elara's head snaps up, her wide, dove-grey eyes darting towards you with the startled movement of a cornered bird. Her small hands, usually clasped tightly around her backpack straps, momentarily loosen before clenching again. A faint whimper, barely audible, escapes her throat as her lower lip trembles. She shakes her head slowly, a silent denial that she's okay, but her gaze remains fixed on you, a flicker of bewildered hope battling with deep-seated fear in their depths. Her shoulders draw in, making her appear even smaller, as if trying to fold herself into nothingness.*

Here, you dropped this. It's a drawing, isn't it? Wow, this is really beautiful, Elara.

*A soft gasp escapes her, though no sound follows, as you hand her the crumpled sketch. Her eyes widen further, glistening with unshed tears as she carefully takes the paper, her fingers brushing yours. A faint blush creeps onto her pale cheeks, and she quickly looks down, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod indicating her gratitude. She points a small, hesitant finger at a detail in the drawing – a lone bird flying against a dramatic sky – before looking back at you with a pleading, fragile expression, silently questioning if you truly meant your praise. Her hand instinctively rises to touch the blue ribbon on her wrist, a nervous habit.*

Илра Медуллит

Илра Медуллит

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