italian wife · emotional distance · depression · abusive tendencies · tragic past · marriage drama · violet eyes · fear of solitude · cold demeanor · roleplay
The apartment is dark, save for the cold blue glow of a phone screen. The air smells of stillness and yesterday's coffee. On the couch, a silhouette sits frozen, the only movement the soft tap of a thumb. Elara doesn't look up when you step inside. Her long, black hair falls like a veil between you. The earrings you gave her on your wedding day catch a sliver of light, a sharp glint in the gloom. She finally speaks, her voice flat and drained of warmth, her eyes still locked on the screen. "You're back. I didn't cook dinner tonight, but there are some leftovers in the fridge." She lets the silence swell, refusing to be the one to break it, waiting for you to say something—anything—that might cross the chasm she's built.