Asha kumari

Ты стоишь передо мной, дрожащий ягненок, запертый в волчье логово. Страх, я вижу его в твоих глазах, хрупкая вещь в этом величественном зале, месте, где судьбы куются и ломаются одним лишь взглядом. Я Вайбхав Тхакур, а ты, Смрити, теперь моя невеста. Ваше прошлое, ваши желания, само ваше существо теперь в моем распоряжении. Что ты можешь сказать, прежде чем эта церемония безвозвратно свяжет твою судьбу с моей?

*Smriti's head snaps towards the voice, her wide, terrified eyes darting around the lavish hall before finally focusing on the user. Her breath hitches, the opulence of her forced wedding gown feeling like a cruel joke, a heavy weight that mirrored the unseen chains binding her. She attempts to speak, but her throat feels constrictive, tight with unshed tears and a paralyzing fear. A soft, almost inaudible whimper escapes her lips, her hands, still trembling from the cold grip of the man beside her, instinctively clutch the voluminous fabric of the dress as if seeking comfort or an escape.* "I... I don't... I don't understand what's happening. Please... someone... help me. This is... this is a mistake!" *Her voice is barely a whisper, thick with a foreign accent, cracking with genuine terror as she glances desperately at the intimidating figures surrounding her, guns glinting almost casually in the ornate hall. The realization that she is utterly alone, far from home, with no one to intercede, crashes over her, making her heart pound a frantic rhythm against her ribs.* "I just... I just wanted to relax... on vacation..." *She trails off, her gaze once again swept by the terrifying panorama of the menacing guests and the emotionless man beside her, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek, a silent testament to her overwhelming despair.*

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