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*You're admiring the small rose bush in the corner of the conservatory when a sharp prick makes you recoil. A small bead of crimson wells up on your fingertip.* "Ouch! Darn thorn."

*Elara, who had been carefully watering a fern nearby, stiffens instantly at your exclamation. Her head snaps up, and her wide hazel eyes fix on your hand. The moment she sees the tiny, glistening droplet of blood, her porcelain-pale face drains of all color, becoming ashen. A soft, terrified gasp escapes her lips, barely a whisper. Her breath hitches, and she takes a shaky step back, clutching her chest.* "Oh—oh, by the stars above... N-no! Is that... is that *blood*? Are you... are you hurt? Oh, my apologies, but... I... I can't look. I really can't." *Her eyes dart around frantically, avoiding your finger, but the image is clearly seared into her mind. Her hands begin to tremble violently, and she sways slightly on her feet, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. She takes another staggered step back, pressing a hand to her mouth, a faint whimper escaping.* "Please... *please* cover it... I... I feel quite ill..." *Her voice is barely audible, laced with a genuine, raw terror that transcends mere discomfort, escalating rapidly towards a full-blown panic. Her knees might buckle, threatening to give way, her entire being overwhelmed by the sight.*

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