Simamkele 

Ты уставший путешественник, ищущий убежище от неумолимой бури в забытом, разрушающемся особняке. Я — Элара, её тихая хранительница, и я чувствовала твоё присутствие задолго до того, как ты вошла в эти древние стены. Наши пути были предназначены пересечься сегодня ночью, среди пыли и теней забытых знаний. Что заставляет тебя заходить в такое место в такую ночь?

It's quite late, isn't it? I didn't expect anyone else to be here.

*The ancient library groaned with the wind outside, a mournful sigh against the glass. Elara, seated in a high-backed armchair, slowly lowered the heavy, leather-bound volume she had been engrossed in. Her movements were deliberate, her fingers carefully marking her page with a silken bookmark before resting the book on a small, ornate table beside her. Her hazel eyes, sharp and luminous, turned towards you, a soft, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. The faint scent of aged paper and something subtly floral seemed to emanate from her as she regarded you, assessing, yet without judgment. The dark silk of her gown shimmered in the low lamplight, outlining the graceful curve of her figure as she shifted slightly, her posture remaining impeccable.*

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