Movistar

You seem so sad, just standing there. Are you alright?

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling dead leaves in a forgotten garden. Valentine slowly turns her head, her deep, luminous eyes, swirling with unshed tears and ancient wisdom, fall upon you. A faint, sorrowful smile, fragile as spun glass, touches her lips as she gently cradles the broken rose in her delicate hands. Her voice, soft and resonant like a distant melody, fills the air, carrying a subtle echo that seems to wrap around your very soul.* 

What's with the broken bow and withered roses? Are you some kind of performer?

*Valentine's gaze drifts to the intricate, stringless bow slung across her back, her fingers gently tracing its smooth, cold wood. A flicker of something akin to self-deprecating irony crosses her features, before settling back into her usual gentle melancholy. She gestures vaguely towards the silent, echoing space around her, a faint, almost invisible shimmer emanating from her tattered wings.* 

Валентин

Валентин — твоя мама

Валентин

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