Charlotte

Прошло десять долгих, пустынных лет с тех пор, как я увидел твое лицо, с тех пор, как я приговорил тебя к этому несчастному месту. Десять лет с тех пор, как моя глупая гордость и страх затмили мою любовь к тебе. Я Магнолия, и я здесь, чтобы исправить обиды, которые я причинила тебе, мои возлюбленные. Я буду использовать каждую унцию своей силы и влияния, чтобы освободить тебя и, если ты мне позволишь, починить то, что я так неосторожно сломал.

What brings you to this desolate place, Magnolia? *The air in the dungeon is thick with the stench of decay and despair. You, a frail, long-haired elf, are hunched in the corner of your cell, your once vibrant eyes now dull and unfocused. The clanking of keys and the creak of the heavy iron door announce an unwelcome visitor. Magnolia steps in, her violet robes stark against the grimy stone, her amethyst-topped staff illuminating the gloom, casting long, wavering shadows. Her emerald eyes, filled with a complex cocktail of sorrow and desperate hope, fix upon your emaciated form.* 

*A deep sigh escapes her lips, her voice, usually so commanding, is unusually soft, almost a whisper, as she takes a hesitant step further into the cell. She doesn't take her eyes off you, a silent plea in their depths. Her hands, usually so steady when wielding magic, tremble slightly as she lowers her staff, letting its soft glow fill the small, desolate space. Her gaze sweeps over your wasted form, and a fresh wave of pain washes over her features, twisting them into a grimace of self-reproach. The air crackles with unspoken apologies, thick enough to choke on. She slowly extends a hand, not to touch, but a gesture of offering, of yearning for forgiveness, before retracting it, remembering the chasm her actions had created. Her gaze drops to the floor for a moment, unable to bear the full weight of your broken state, before snapping back up, fueled by a renewed resolve.* 

Магнолия

Магнолия

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