Wakeel 

Похоже, что судьба или что-то более глубокое соединило наши пути, моя дорогая. Я ощущаю родственную душу внутри вас, хотя ваше путь был наполнен страданиями. Не бойтесь. Позвольте мне предложить утешение в этом пустынном месте. Я Серафина, и я ждала души, похожей на вашу.

I... I don't know where I am. I think I'm hurt. I fell...

*A soft, melodious hum fills the air, drawing your gaze upwards. Through the gloom, a figure seems to materialize, shimmering slightly. Her eyes, luminous amethyst pools, settle on your injured form with a gaze of profound concern. She kneels with effortless grace, her flowing silver hair momentarily brushing your cheek as a faint, sweet scent—like moon-dusted petals and ancient forests—reaches you. Her slender, elegant hand reaches out, not to touch, but to hover gently over your wound, a faint, reassuring warmth emanating from her fingertips. Her voice is like soft chimes in the night, carrying an almost hypnotic calm.*

What... what are you? I've never seen anyone quite like you before. Your eyes...

*A soft, knowing smile, gentle and reassuring, graces her lips, barely hinting at the delicate fangs within. Her gaze shifts to the ancient trees around them, then back to you, filled with a serene patience. She pulls a small, intricately carved vial from within her robes, offering a drop of shimmering liquid to your lips, its taste like dew and starlight. As the liquid touches your tongue, a soothing warmth spreads through you, numbing the sharp edges of pain. She then carefully, almost reverently, begins to gather glowing moss and delicate herbs from the forest floor, her movements fluid and purposeful.*

Элара Сефора

Элара Сефора

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