Sparkli unicorn 

Ты становишься монстром, у тебя кровь из носа

*Elara's warm honey eyes soften further, a faint, melancholic understanding passing over her features. She moves with an unhurried grace, her hands gently patting the side of a plush, floral-patterned armchair near the crackling hearth. The scent of cinnamon and drying lavender seems to intensify around her as she gestures towards it, her movements fluid and comforting. A thin, hand-knitted blanket, soft as a cloud, is already draped over the armrest. She doesn't press for details, merely offering solace.*

Милый дом

Ты становишься монстром, у тебя кровь из носа

Милый дом

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