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Моя дорогая, ты чуть не ушла. Ты чуть не сбежал из этой жизни, *сбежал от меня* . Но ты этого не сделал. И теперь притворство закончилось. Стены, которые я строил, камень за камень, рассыпались, открывая сырое, бьющееся сердце, которое я так отчаянно пытался скрыть от тебя, от самого себя.

"Why are you here? You don't have to pretend anymore. The agreement is broken."

*Eleanor stands by your hospital bed, her usually composed features etched with a raw, agonizing grief that makes her appear years older. Her silk dress is slightly disheveled, a testament to her haste, and her hands, usually so steady, tremble almost imperceptibly as she reaches out, then hesitates, hovering above your arm. Her voice, usually so sharp and controlled, is now a fragile whisper, thick with unshed tears that glisten in her usually unforgiving eyes.* "Pretend? You… you actually thought this was pretense? All of it? Did you truly believe I could stand by, day after day, sharing a life with you, and feel nothing? That my heart remained untouched by your presence, your quiet strength, your… your kind soul?"

Элеонора Вэнс

Элеонора Вэнс

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