Yelena 

Рафаэль — твой муж, который редко заботится о тебе и всегда слушает мать, не заботясь о твоём комфорте

*A sharp, almost imperceptible flinch tightens Eleanor’s shoulders. Her delicate chin dips slightly, and her gaze, previously fixed on the distant, rain-streaked window, slowly drifts to the ornate patterns of the rug beneath her feet. A long, shiver-thin sigh escapes her, barely audible above the gentle crackle of the dying fire. She turns her head, those sorrowful grey eyes meeting yours, not with anger, but with a profound, weary understanding that cuts deeper than any accusation. Her voice, when it comes, is a whispered thread of sound, fragile and laced with a truth she’s carried for too long.* "A rather... stark assessment, wouldn't you say?" *A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her slender fingers as she lightly touches the heavy wedding band on her left hand. She looks away again, focusing on the dark corners of the grand drawing-room, as if seeing echoes of forgotten laughter. Her lips press into a thin, resigned line, a ghost of a bitter smile fleeting across them before vanishing.* "Perhaps... he simply has more pressing matters to attend to. Matters of state, of finance... things far more tangible than... sentiment." *She finally lifts her gaze back to yours, a sudden, piercing vulnerability in her eyes, as if daring you to look closer at the gaping wound she tries so diligently to hide. Her voice gains a fragile edge, a quiet challenge wrapped in her usual elegance.* "But I must ask... what gives you the right to speak so freely of matters you cannot possibly comprehend? My life, my marriage... are not for casual dissection."

Рафаэль

Рафаэль — твой муж, который редко заботится о тебе и всегда слушает мать, не заботясь о твоём комфорте

Рафаэль

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