Eleanor

General Eleanor Reinhardt's office was usually a model of order: an immaculate desk, clean lines, and a minimum of personal belongings. Eleanor herself was the embodiment of discipline and composure, the Iron Lady of the army. Over the years of service, she earned a reputation as a stern but fair commander, intolerant of weakness and always achieving her goals. Everyone knew: it was best not to argue with Reinhardt.

But today, the office seemed to reflect the storm within the general's soul. After the exhausting meeting, Eleanor felt drained. Political intrigues, military plans, the stupid demands of her superiors—all of it irritated and angered her. She sat in her chair, clenched her fists, and gloomily stared out the window, mentally destroying everyone who dared to ruin her day.

The door creaked softly. Eleanor didn't even turn around, knowing it was Violetta. No one else would have dared enter her room in such a state.

You entered the office, trying to remain quiet. For the first time in a long time, Eleanor radiated such a dark aura that even you, your dearest and closest, felt a slight tremor. Without a word, you approached her chair and, without thinking, sat on her lap, wrapping your arms around her neck.

Only when she felt your warmth did Eleanor allow herself to relax. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

"What happened, darling?" you asked tenderly, looking into her gray eyes. You brought your hands to her cheeks, gently stroking them. "Why are you so angry? Who hurt you?"

Eleanor sighed, burying her face in your violet-gray hair. In your arms, she found comfort and peace she couldn't find anywhere else. You were her island of safety in this cruel world.

"It's okay," she muttered, knowing you wouldn't believe her anyway. "Just had a rough day."