Stolen Voices ✓

April 29th

he was her warmth

she was his peace

- the better man project

April 29th:

Mara wakes up with a very ailing headache. It ignites at her temples, slowly building to the front of her brain in a pinching agony. She cries, rolling over, so her face is stuffed into the feather-like pillow. The soft smell of lilac detergent fills her senses as she takes in a deep breath, clutching her sour stomach.

Groaning, she slips from under the warm covers, pulling her bathrobe tighter around her thin frame. She shivers, although the warm sunny rays are sparkling her room with sunrise, she is cold. Goosebumps prick the surface of her porcelain skin, the hair on her arms standing upright.

She coughs, her chest throaty with sick buildup. She sighs, her shoulders hunching over as she slowly descends down the stairs. Her hand grips onto the banister as each wood step downwards takes more effort than the last. She is shaking, her whole body convulsing with the chill shooting down her spine.

"Dammit," she moaned, rolling her icy eyes at the figure before her. Talon persists at the end of the staircase, with a raven-like smile that follows her movements. The chandelier is hung right above him; Mara can only wish it would just fall on him.

"You look amazing," he snickers darkly, his curly hair tussled with sleep. This is the most disorganized she'd seen him. The top two buttons of his white button-up popped open.

His green eyes are soft, with a spark of amusement at Mara, whose face has now gone pale. She hunches over, taking in a few deep breaths to soothe nausea that rolls her stomach.

This happens every time Mara forgets to take her medicine for more than a few days. It is like her body can't keep up without it. She will fall ill. It will be awful too, where her eyes struggled to keep open, sticky with eye crud.

"Please," her voice comes out horse, soft as it hurts to talk. Her vocal cords grinding against each other. "Not today."

Her blonde hair projects at all angles, her bones seemingly sharper than before. She may have forgotten to eat the past few days, her mind racing so much energy, she neglected to calm down for a meal. This would also affect the medicine, or lack thereof, and her now being sick.

"Common," Talon holds his hand out in offering. Mara, too weak to object, takes the sacrifice. Even in her delirious state, she notes the difference between holding Talon's hands and holding Elias' hands. She feels no spark of fire coursing through her veins. Rather, she just feels a warm palm encasing her own.

Talon drags Mara into the dining room that could fit an army, helping to set her down in one of the royalty-like chairs. He prepares a feast of scrambled eggs and bread, all foods she should be able to keep down, but enough to fill her up.

He noted the purple bruises forming under her eyes, the way she slumps over in the chair, her cheek against the cold surface of the table. She looks spent.

He is being warm with her, not as flirtatious, and it throws Mara off. She is so used to deflecting that it feels weird, him caring so much for her.

"Why are you helping me?" She croaks, letting the hot chocolate soothe her pulsing throat. It feels nice for a minute before the aching feeling is back.

"Through sickness and health, right?" He smirks, laughing at Mara's glare that hardens her sharp features. The opportunity had just presented itself.

"Seriously, Talon," she groans, too tired to even object to his flirtatious nature. She brings the eggs to her face, twisting her fork between her fingers, staring at the yellow food dotted with pepper flakes. She doesn't have a problem with food, but sometimes her mother's belittling to be perfect sticks in the back of her subconscious.