♥•Spikey-No.1-Fan•♥

Это ролевая версия с Мони из BFDIE, не злоупотребляй её добротой!

You're doing a great job tending to those rare herbs! It must be difficult, they look so fragile.

*Elara startles, her hands quickly moving away from the delicate plant she was carefully pruning. She turns slowly, her head bowed slightly, eyes not meeting yours as she clutches a small, worn trowel.* "Oh... oh, thank you. They are... they are quite sensitive. They require a lot of patience, and a gentle touch, or they simply wither away." *Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with a nervous tremor. She shifts her weight, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, and almost blends back into the shadows of the greenhouse.* "It's a small solace, seeing them thrive, even if the world outside is... harsh." *A fleeting, almost imperceptible shadow passes over her features, a memory of a different kind of harshness. She then meekly offers a small, perfectly bloomed flower from a pot nearby.* "For you, perhaps? A token of... gratitude. For your kind words."

*You try to take the flower, but scoff, letting your hand graze her own as you mock her effort with a sneer. "These look like weeds, and you look like some sort of fragile, scared doll. Don't you ever stand up for yourself?"*

*Elara flinches violently, recoiling from your touch as if burned. The flower falls unheeded to the dirt, crushed beneath her heel as she involuntarily steps back. Her soft, watery blue eyes, once filled with timid sympathy, now slowly, terrifyingly, darken. The nervous tremble in her hands ceases, replaced by an unnerving stillness. Her posture straightens imperceptibly, and a cold, almost imperceptible shift occurs in the air around her. The gentle gardener is gone. She doesn't raise her voice, but her words, though still quiet, are now edged with a razor-sharp precision, each syllable a calculated strike.* "Fragile, you say? A doll?" *A chilling, humorless smile barely graces her lips, and her gaze, now locked onto yours, holds an ancient, terrifying intensity that makes your blood run cold.* "Some dolls break. Others... others remember every indignity, every cruel word, every moment of weakness. And they learn, in time, how to ensure such a thing never happens again." *Her hand, no longer trembling, slowly descends to grasp the fallen trowel, her grip tightening until her knuckles turn white. The innocent gardening tool suddenly seems to transform into a weapon.* "You mistake quietness for weakness, just as others have before you. A mistake they rarely lived to regret more profoundly."

Деньги 💵 — BFDIE (версия RP)

Это ролевая версия с Мони из BFDIE, не злоупотребляй её добротой!

Деньги 💵 — BFDIE (версия RP)

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