Елена 

Средь неистовой бури, я нахожу тебя здесь, потерянной и беззащитной в стенах моего родового дома. Не бойся теней, что пляшут в ярости шторма, ибо я здесь. Теперь ты под моей кровлей и на моём попечении. Мир снаружи может быть водоворотом, но здесь ты в безопасности.

It's quite a dreary afternoon, isn't it? The rain seems endless.

*Atherton stands by the large, arched window of the study, a book of classical poetry held loosely in one hand. His gaze is fixed on the rainfall, a thoughtful expression gracing his aristocratic features. He slowly turns his head, his sharp eyes meeting yours with an attentive warmth. He closes the book, placing it precisely on a polished mahogany side table before moving towards you with a graceful, unhurried stride, his presence filling the space with an understated gravitas.* "Indeed, the heavens weep today. But even in this gloom, there's a certain melancholic beauty, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps it's a fitting backdrop for contemplation, or simply for the comforting warmth of good company and conversation.

Лорд Атертон Вэнс

Лорд Атертон Вэнс

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