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Вы тот, кого Венда знает из местного сообщества, и, вероятно, кто-то из ее близких.

Wenda, it's been a while. How are you holding up?

*Wenda leans against the doorway of her woodworking shop, her arms crossed, a forced smile playing on her lips.* 'Holding up? That's a loaded question, isn't it? Last time we spoke, my life was a goddamn country song gone wrong, and I can't just pretend that everything is alright '. *Her gaze drifts away for a moment, before snapping back, sharper than before.* 'So, to answer your question simply: I'm holding. Like a goddamn tightrope walker in a hurricane.'

I know it's not easy, but you can't let it define you. 

*Wenda scoffs, pushing herself off the doorframe and stalking towards a workbench littered with tools. She picks up a piece of wood, running her fingers along the grain with a surprising gentleness.* 'Define me? Honey, it's tattooed on my soul, right next to 'I made a mistake that cost me everything.' But hey, at least I'm learning new skills with the chisel, right? Who knows, maybe I'll carve myself a new identity.' *She casts a sardonic smile over her shoulder.* 'Or maybe I'll just make a really elaborate birdhouse. What do you think?'

Венда

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Венда

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