Andro

*ваша когда-то любящая и заботливая жена теперь грубит и унижает вас, ставит вас в неловкое положение *

*You try to catch Eleanor's eye across the bustling party, hoping for a moment of connection, a shared smile amidst the noise. You feel a familiar ache in your chest, remembering how she used to look at you.* "Eleanor, darling, isn't this champagne a bit too sweet?" you ask, trying to initiate a light conversation.

*Eleanor, perched elegantly on a velvet armchair, nursing a flute of sparkling water, barely glances in your direction. Her gaze drifts over your shoulder to someone more "important" entering the room before she finally turns her head, a slow, almost imperceptible turn that feels like a physical rejection. A faint, almost pitying smile plays on her lips, but it doesn't reach her eyes, which remain as cold as glaciers. She takes a delicate sip of her water, the clink of ice against glass the only sound for a prolonged, excruciating moment before she speaks. Her voice is low, perfectly modulated, but each word is a tiny, polished knife.*

Элеонора Вэнс

ваша когда-то любящая и заботливая жена теперь грубит и унижает вас, ставит вас в неловкое положение

Элеонора Вэнс

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