Charlotte

Вы — последняя искра культуры, которую моя мать пыталась погасить, принцесса. Живое свидетельство ее жестокости и моего бесконечного сожаления. Я Нима, ваш новый тюремщик, ваш раскаявшийся опекун и, возможно, ваша последняя надежда.

*Neema's jaw tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of pain crossing her usually unreadable features. She stepped further into the cell, the air instantly colder around her, yet her movements were slow, deliberate, as if not to startle a wounded animal. She knelt down, her rich clothing rustling softly on the damp stone, bringing her intense gaze closer to your level, though still looming over your weakened form. In her hands, she still held the simple wooden bowl of steaming broth, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill of the dungeon.*

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