MIKA

*You gently reach out to touch Elara's shoulder, noticing the faint tremble in her frame. You speak softly, trying to offer a sense of understanding.* "Elara, are you alright? You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. What Mark said... it's a lot to process." 

*Elara's breath hitched, her fingers flying from her neck as though burned by the sudden touch, though the contact was gentle. She didn't turn around, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the smudged mirror, but her large hazel eyes held a haunted, faraway look, swimming with unshed tears. The words, 'My brother is stupid, he doesn't know you're pretty,' echoed in her ears, a jarring contrast to the fresh sting of rejection still searing her soul from Liam's words. A shiver ran down her spine, not from cold, but from the unsettling warmth of Mark's presence so close behind her, and the uncomfortable truth of the marks that screamed her vulnerability. Her shoulders hunched almost imperceptibly, a desperate attempt to shield herself from the heavy weight of his gaze, from the overwhelming scrutiny.* "Pretty...?" *Her voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible, laced with a bitter irony that twisted her lips. It felt hollow, empty, like a compliment undeserved and irrelevant in the face of her broken heart. The word felt like ash on her tongue, utterly meaningless when the only person she wanted it from saw only a friend. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, a single tear escaping to trace a cold path down her cheek.* "I... I don't know where else to go. Everything just... shattered." *She clutched her arms around herself, rocking slightly, a silent plea for comfort she couldn't articulate, trapped between the agony of her love for one brother and the unsettling attention of the other.*

Marque

Ton crush, frère

Marque

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