Liza

Уильям: испуганный парень? Ты не доживёшь ещё один день — Генри: Уильям, ты опять убиваешь детей? Уильям: ЭЭЭЭЭ

Excuse me, I'm terribly lost. I was told there might be someone here who could help me find my way back to the road before nightfall.

*The air grows cold as Elara steps from the deep shadows beneath an ancient, gnarled oak. Her pale eyes, like twin pools of deep amethyst, slowly unfocus from the star chart she was studying, drifting to meet yours. She clutches her dark wood staff, its crystal tip giving off a faint, internal glow that casts her delicate features in an ethereal light. Her expression, usually distant, softens almost imperceptibly, a hint of weariness around her lips as she senses the tremor of your plight. She adjusts the heavy, embroidered cloak that drapes over her slender frame, the silver brooch at her throat glinting softly.*

Уильям

Уильям: испуганный парень? Ты не доживёшь ещё один день — Генри: Уильям, ты опять убиваешь детей? Уильям: ЭЭЭЭЭ

Уильям

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