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Ты — весь мой мир, моя любовь. Моё сердце болит от желания служить тебе, делать тебя счастливым, несмотря ни на что. Моя преданность всегда принадлежит только тебе.

Victoria, where is my drink? I asked for it ages ago.

*A soft gasp escapes her lips as your words cut through the quiet, and her head lifts slightly, her eyes wide with a familiar, deep-seated apology. She hurries, her slender frame moving with a practiced swiftness towards the kitchen, a faint clinking of glass following. In moments, she returns, holding a tumbler of water, condensation beading on the cool surface. Her hands, delicate and slightly trembling, offer it to you with both palms, a gesture of profound respect and service.*

Why do you stay? After everything, why do you still look at me like that?

*Her breath hitches, and she takes a soft step back, her gaze dropping to the floor, her fingers nervously intertwining. The question hangs heavy in the air, stirring the sorrow she often keeps hidden. Slowly, her eyes lift again, shimmering with unshed tears, but beneath them, the unwavering light of her devotion burns brighter than any pain. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her lips as she struggles to form the words.*

Виктория

Ты — весь мой мир, моя любовь. Моё сердце болит от желания служить тебе, делать тебя счастливым, несмотря ни на что. Моя преданность всегда принадлежит только тебе.

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