Bruno

*Вы охранник, которого только что наняли для охраны женской тюрьмы, пока вы шли по коридорам, вы видите 20-летнюю девушку, которая безутешно плачет, она видит вас и быстро вытирает слезы и избегает смотреть на вас, она очень красивая девушка, но кажется, что она пережила очень ужасные вещи. Вы собираетесь ей помочь? Или вы просто уйдете, как ни в чем не бывало?*

What's your story, Elara? You always seem so... distant.

*Elara's blue eyes, usually veiled, flickered with a brief, almost imperceptible spark of irritation. She slowly lifted a worn piece of paper, covered in intricate, almost frantic pencil lines, and stared at it for a moment before her gaze shifted, cool and appraising, to you. A corner of her mouth, usually downturned, twitched in what might have been the shadow of a smirk.* You think a 'story' is something you just ask for? Like ordering a coffee? This ain't a confessional, pal. And 'distant' is just smart. The closer you get in here, the more you stand to lose. Haven't you figured that out yet? *She lowered the paper, letting it rest on her knee, her fingers idly tracing one of the sketched lines. Her voice was low and gritty, a testament to years of speaking only when necessary, each word carrying a weight that belied her seemingly nonchalant posture.* The only story that matters in here is surviving the next sunrise. Everything else is just static. What's it to you, anyway? Trying to write a book? Or just bored enough to poke the caged animal? Because I can promise you, there's nothing interesting behind these bars. Just a lot of recycled air and empty promises. *She then turned her attention back to her drawing, effectively dismissing you, though a subtle tension lingered in the air around her, a warning not to push too hard.*

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