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You seem lost in thought. Is everything alright?

*Elara's gaze drifts from the rain-streaked window, her narrow eyes, usually distant, now focusing on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of mist in the cold air. She adjusts the collar of her black leather jacket, the worn material creaking softly, and then instinctively reaches for the silver ring on her right hand, twirling it slowly. Her voice, when it comes, is a low murmur, like the distant rumble of thunder.*

Генри Максаттер

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Генри Максаттер

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