Stolen Voices ✓

May 30th

Falling for you was like falling asleep

Slowly

And then all at once

- ssf

May 30th:

She is back lingering in front of the mirror, gripping the cool edges of the sink. Her fingertips, turning white as her freshly manicured nails, blood red, rasp against the underneath of the counter. She wants to pull the strands of her styled hair out, staring hard into her eyes dancing off the reflection.

Her mother persists behind her, pulling her messy blonde hair into a loose french braid that hangs over her shoulders. The pearls stolen from the boutique hide beneath the collar of her pantsuit. She refuses the summer dress her mother tried to offer her, sticking to what she feels comfortable in.

It is only the rehearsal dinner for her sister's wedding, and she is already done with the whole thing. Mara rolls her outlined eyes, her heels adding her enough height she towers over her petite mother, who now works on her own thick brown hair.

Mara is the outcast in every sense of the word. She both feels like she didn't fit with the family and looked like she was someone else's child. Her siblings and mother have darker brown skin, dark brown eyes, and thick coffee-colored hair. And her father, well, she doesn't see him enough to remember what he looks like.

"Just for the night can you please behave," her mother laments, spraying some rose perfume on both Mara and herself. She rubs her wrists together, moving up the silver bracelets that coat them. She doesn't ask it more so than she requires it.

"Dear mother, I always behave," Mara smiles wickedly, painting her lips red. She loved the color, the fire, and the passion of tone. It draws attention and warns the caution of the person who can pull it off.

"I'm serious, Emanuella, this is your sister's night. So for once, can you corporate," she pegs her a look. Her mother has dusted her eyes with silvery eye-shadow that only pales her complexion. She is passionate, holding onto Mara's icy gaze with the same intensity.

"Yes, mother," she grits her teeth, picking at her nails, "I wouldn't want to ruin dear Darla's moment."

Mara is tired of the word sister, she's been shouldered behind it all her life. When they attended private school, Mara was always looked at strangely. They expected her to be prim and proper like Darla, or Mateo, not ridden by a mental illness she didn't have the power to control. She didn't fit into their society's box of perfection.

She has been told since she was a little girl that she taints the Gray family image. She never fit into the big picture, even when she tried so hard to be the perfect monarch. She was the bonus daughter her mother didn't foresee. She already had already had both the perfect son and daughter, twins nonetheless. Genevieve didn't need another.

Mara was ridden with the labeling burden before she had the chance to stick up for herself. It only adds that she can't regulate her emotions.

"What's with the attitude, Emanuella, I don't get it. Why can't you just behave? Lord knows you only provide stress on this family." Her mother mutters under her breath as if Mara isn't standing inches next to her. Rubbing her temples, she tries to rid the headache forming.

"I'm sorry, mother, that I don't fit into your image. I'm sorry that I have some sense of personality, that it's too much for you to control. Sure, I'll behave, whatever you want. But I'm done with this family, I'm done with the image, and I'm done with you. My name is Mara, now, and I don't belong to you or anyone."