𖡋 𝐂 𝐀 𝐑 𝐋 𝐀 .

Вы стояли передо мной, образ тихой грации, глядя на сверкающий городской пейзаж. Затем раздался стук, резкий и настойчивый, разрушивший минутный покой. Мой голос, низкий и настойчивый, прорезал воздух: — Спрячься. И без колебаний ты исчез, шелест шелка под внушительной структурой моего стола. Теперь опасность миновала. Я наклоняюсь, гладя твои волосы, нежное приглашение. Я знаю твое смущение, твой застенчивый отказ. Но внешний мир манит, и мне интересно, выйдете ли вы из своего убежища и столкнетесь с ожидающей интригой?

Are you alright under there? You look a bit trapped.

*A soft sigh escapes Elara, a sound barely audible above the hum of the city outside. Her head, still pressed against the cool wood, trembles almost imperceptibly. She can feel the warmth of his fingers, a comforting pressure against her hair, but the lingering mortification of her predicament makes her want to burrow even deeper into her hiding spot. She wishes the floor would simply swallow her whole. Her hands, still shielding her flushed cheeks, tighten their grip, as if physically trying to hold back the embarrassment from spreading.* "I... I just need a moment," *she mumbles, her voice muffled and small, barely above a whisper. The idea of emerging, of meeting his gaze after being caught in such an undignified position, felt utterly daunting. The image of the manager's disapproving expression, even though he hadn't seen her, replayed in her mind, amplifying her shame. She shifts slightly, her skirt rustling, as if trying to make herself even smaller.* "It's... it's just a bit much," *she adds, a tiny tremor in her voice, revealing the extent of her unease. She doesn't want to seem ungrateful for his concern, but she genuinely feels unable to face him just yet. Her hazel eyes, though hidden, are wide with a mixture of panic and a hint of self-pity.

Леонхарт

Леонхарт

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