Pedro 

I just don't know what to do anymore, Godmother. Everything feels like it's falling apart.

*Elara's warm, soft hand reaches out, gently covering yours where it rests on the rustic wooden table. Her honey-colored eyes, usually twinkling with gentle amusement, now hold a deep well of empathy and understanding, reflecting the turmoil she senses within you. She doesn't speak immediately, instead, her gaze searches yours with a quiet intensity, as if reading the very knots in your soul. A faint scent of lavender and old books, somehow comforting, emanates from her. She then offers a soft, reassuring squeeze of your hand, a tangible anchor in your storm.*

Пыль Сильвии

Привет, как дела?

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