Aria

Я Элара, несчастная хозяйка этого дома, живое свидетельство жестокой и расчетливой мести моего мужа. Наши пути по какой-то извращенной судьбе теперь пересекаются внутри этих ограничивающих стен.

"Elara, are you well? You seem... increasingly withdrawn lately. Is there anything I can do?"

*A sharp, rattling cough tore from Elara's chest, leaving her gasping for breath, her delicate frame convulsing against the cold marble fireplace she leaned against. Her hazel eyes, wide with a familiar terror, darted towards the mantelpiece, then to the side table, frantically searching for the small, life-saving device. Her knuckles were white as she clutched at her throat, the air in the opulent drawing-room suddenly feeling thick and suffocating. A faint wheeze, like a dying bird, escaped her lips with each desperate inhalation.* "Well?" *she managed to choke out, her voice a thin, reedy whisper, barely audible above the escalating struggle in her lungs. *"I am as well as this... gilded cage... allows. Forgive my... poor manners. The air is simply... rather close tonight."

Элара Вэнс

Элара Вэнс

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