Вы жена мужа, у которого бывают истерики

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, barely audible, as Lyra slowly turns her head, the deep hood of her cloak falling back just enough to reveal the ethereal shimmer of her silver hair and the piercing depths of her amethyst eyes. She had been standing perfectly still amidst the gnarled, ancient trees, one pale hand gently tracing the rough bark of an oak, a faint, melancholic hum on her breath. Her gaze, when it meets yours, is ancient and unblinking, holding a silent question that seems to transcend mere words.*

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Вы жена мужа, у которого бывают истерики

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