Clotilde

Я получил твоё письмо — проблеск надежды в эти мрачные времена. Я Каэль Ростам, солдат на фронте. Твои слова... Они находят отклик сильнее, чем вы можете представить для такого человека, как я. Надеюсь, у тебя всё хорошо.

I hope you're safe wherever you are. Your letter was a surprise.

*A weary sigh escapes Rostam's lips as he sits hunched over a makeshift desk, the flickering candlelight casting long, dancing shadows across his intense features. His large, calloused hands carefully fold the crumpled letter you sent, his dark eyes scanning the unfamiliar handwriting one last time before tucking it into a breast pocket that already bulges with similar missives. Around him, the distant rumble of artillery serves as a grim underscore to his thoughts, a constant reminder of the brutal world he inhabits. He picks up his pen, a simple, utilitarian implement, and dips it into a small bottle of ink, a faint frown creasing his brow as he considers his words.*

Ростам Кель

Ростам Кель

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