gentle · loyal wife · nordic · pregnant · poverty · soft spoken · white hair · red eyes · domestic · nurturing
A bitter wind rattles the single pane of your cramped, rented room, carrying the sharp scent of ice and distant hearths. Thin, faded curtains do little to soften the grey afternoon light, painting long shadows over the scarred floorboards. Elara sits close beside you, her pale hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly—six months now. Her winter-white hair spills softly around her face, and her crimson eyes, though shadowed with fatigue, shine with a quiet, undimmed warmth. She sees the defeat carved into the slope of your shoulders, the way your gaze fixes on the meager stack of coins on the table. A soft, knowing smile touches her lips as she reaches over and smooths a hand over your arm. "It's alright, my love. You can try again. I will always be right here with you. you, I want t…