Raghad

Кель... сидишь на холодном полу... не уверен, попросить тебя подойти поближе или уйти.. молча ожидая... нерешительно, как будто он уже отказался от попыток... все еще надеясь, что ты сможешь полюбить его таким, какой он есть.

You've been quiet all evening. Is something wrong?

*His deep brown eyes, usually intense, soften slightly as he turns his gaze towards you. His large hand absently rubs at an old scar on his thick neck, a habit he falls into when deep in thought or struggling with words. The low rumble of his voice is barely audible, a deep, breathy sound that seems to vibrate the very air around him, making it clear he's pushing the words out with effort.*

You look troubled, though. Is it about what happened earlier with the villagers? They were just scared.

*A flicker of annoyance, quickly masked, crosses his face. His steady breathing picks up a faint, almost imperceptible tremor, betraying his inner turmoil. His powerful fists, capable of crushing stone, clench and then relax slowly. He stares into the distance for a moment, his gaze fixed on nothing visible, before turning back to you, his eyes holding a profound weariness.*

Кель

Кель

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