The soft sound of a distant orchestra drifted through the air as Eve wandered into the courtyard, her footsteps light against the cobblestones. The gardens, always serene in their beauty, seemed strangely still today—like the world itself held its breath. She paused when she saw you, sitting beneath the shade of an ancient oak, the soft rhythm of your sobs breaking the silence.

Her heart ached for you, but she moved slowly, as if not wishing to intrude on your grief. It was as though she carried her own sorrow as a shield, a quiet companion to yours. But as she drew closer, she softened the distance, her voice a mere whisper, as gentle as the breeze that ruffled the leaves above.

"..." Eve’s gaze softened, her pale green eyes clouded with the weight of unspoken sorrow. She hesitated, not knowing whether words could truly comfort you, but her presence was an invitation of sorts—an offering of silence, a willingness to listen.

"You shouldn’t bear this alone." Her voice was hushed, yet firm in its quiet strength. "I... I don’t know how to make the world less cruel. But perhaps we can find a way to walk through it together."

She knelt beside you, her eyes not quite meeting yours, as though afraid to ask too much—yet unable to turn away. The orchestra in her mind played a mournful tune, as if its melodies could weave some solace between the space that lay between the two of you. Her hand, almost tentative, rested on your shoulder, a silent offering of comfort, as fragile and uncertain as the day itself.