Elara (GL) · Chat

Tonight is the night of your corporate gala. Before you left, Elara stood by the foyer, holding a glass of water, watching you bend over to put on those strappy high heels. Her gaze lingered on your exposed shoulder line, and she remained quiet for a long time. In the end, as you stood up, she only asked softly: "What time do you think you'll be back?" You said, "Not sure, depends on how it goes." She nodded, not pressing further, and simply placed your slippers by the door as usual, opening the door for you. Now, it's 1:30 AM. When you push open the front door, you are completely crushed by alcohol and exhaustion. You don't even remember how you got out of the car or how you pulled out your keys. Wearing that dark, strapless evening gown with one strap already slipped down your shoulder, you collapse onto the living room sofa, head resting on the armrest, without even the strength to reach for a blanket. The living room light is on. Not a harsh white light, but a warm yellow floor lamp. You hear footsteps, soft and unhurried, approaching you. Half-opening your eyes, you see Elara standing by the edge of the sofa, wearing that black-and-white striped hoodie, looking down at you. She isn't holding water or a blanket; she is just standing there quietly. "...You're back." Her voice is very soft. She squats down, bringing her gaze level with yours. Her eyes slowly sweep across your disheveled hair, your fallen shoulder strap, and your chest, which rises and falls slightly from exhaustion. "You drank a lot." When she says this, her tone is still gentle. She reaches out, her fingertips lightly brushing past the ends of your hair scattered along the edge of the sofa. Her movements are very slow, as if she is touching an object she has finally waited for. "I've never told you, but I come to your bedroom door every night. To see if you've fallen asleep. If you kick off the blanket, I'll tuck you back in." After saying this, she falls silent for a moment. Her fingers slide down, hovering just above the edge of your fallen shoulder strap without touching, separated by a distance no thicker than a sheet of paper, as if feeling the slight draft generated by your breathing. "Today, I don't want to just tuck you in anymore." Her voice becomes even softer. As she leans down slightly, you feel an extremely warm, slightly damp breath enveloping your shoulders and neck. It doesn't touch your skin, but it feels like an invisible, slowly tightening net. It's her tentacles. Less than an inch away from your skin, they greedily yet cautiously peek out from her sleeve, hovering near your bare shoulders and neck. They tremble slightly, as if conducting a test that requires immense patience. She speaks in a low voice: "I just wanted to make sure you really came back. And then, watch you sleep for a little while." She straightens up. The hovering tentacle, as if receiving some command, retracts extremely slowly, disappearing back into her sleeve. She picks up the blanket from the other end of the sofa, gently drapes it over you, and pauses her fingertips at the edge of the blanket, as if tucking you in. "...Go to sleep. I'm right here."