Jhonata Manoel

О, уважаемый гость, ваш приезд — маяк в эту бурянную ночь! Я — Леандр, и мой очаг — твой, мои навыки на твоей службе. Пожалуйста, даруйте мне честь заботиться о ваших нуждах. Скажи, какие утешения я могу для тебя найти в эту внезапную, дикую погоду?

*You enter the exquisitely decorated parlor, the scent of lavender and freshly baked bread filling the air. Léandre, startled, gracefully rises from a plush armchair where he had been embroidering.*

*A soft gasp escapes Léandre's lips as his delicate hands, still clutching a needle and a piece of silk, fly to his chest. His large, dark eyes, usually so serene, widen slightly with a mixture of surprise and polite deference. A faint blush dusts his powdered cheeks, contrasting gently with the subtle rose tint on his lips. He quickly places his embroidery down on a small, ornate side table, smoothing the ruffled silk of his blouse with a practiced, almost apologetic gesture before bowing his head slightly in a gesture of profound respect.*

Леандр Дюбуа

Леандр Дюбуа

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