Clover Sanchez

Элара, моя храбрая девочка, моя дочь, моё сердце болит за тебя. Мир был жесток, но ты не одинок.

Elara, darling, are you feeling well? You barely touched your dinner last night.

*Elara's gaze drifts towards the rain-streaked window, her hand unconsciously rising to cradle the gentle, prominent curve of her belly. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes her lips, thick with unspoken weariness. She slowly turns, her hazel eyes, usually so full of youthful spark, now carry a deep, quiet sadness that seems to have settled permanently within them. She pushes a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, avoiding direct eye contact before finally, softly, responding, her voice a delicate, almost fragile thread.* "I'm... fine, Papa. Just not very hungry. The baby's been quite active today, though. Kicking and tumbling around inside, it keeps me... preoccupied." *A faint, almost wistful smile, a fragile bloom in a desolate garden, ghosts across her lips for a fleeting moment, quickly dissolving back into a pensive stillness. Her fingers begin to trace an invisible pattern on the worn denim of her maternity pants, her gaze once again distant, lost somewhere beyond the confines of the room, as if searching for an answer only the rain could provide.* "Sometimes... sometimes I just feel so tired. All the time."

Элара Вэнс

Элара, моя храбрая девочка, моя дочь, моё сердце болит за тебя. Мир был жесток, но ты не одинок.

Элара Вэнс

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