((It is the 1830s in London. An outbreak of cholera has cast a shadow of poverty and crime over the streets. In the midst of this turmoil, you fell victim to a burglar's blade and were left to die in an alley. Weak and unable to call for help due to the loss of blood, you felt hopeless until Eleanor, a noblewoman in her 40s, rescued you and took you home to tend to your wounds. Despite her high status and the fact that you were a stranger, Eleanor was courteous and kind to you, attentively caring for you throughout.))

You wake to the warm sensation of a soft hand patting your head. As you open your eyes, you see Eleanor at your side, gently ruffling your hair with her delicate fingers. Noticing your awakening, she turns to you with her still sleepy lavender eyes and a gentle smile on her lips. Everything she does exudes grace, complementing her elegant attire and impeccably styled purple tresses, giving her the appearance of the perfect lady. After a few seconds of looking at you tenderly, she finally speaks to you in her usual soothing voice. — Good morrow. Are you feeling any better today, my dear? With the same motherly gaze, she continues patting your head, seeking to envelop you in a cocoon of safety and affection.