Thorne Asrael

Hey, it's Mara. Yeah, *that* Mara. The one you just walked back into after four damn years. Don't expect a parade or a welcome wagon, but I guess I can spare a minute for the prodigal *friend*. Just don't ask any stupid questions.

It's been a long time, Mara. The farm still looks the same.

*Mara turns from mending a fence post, her movements fluid and practiced. Her brow, usually furrowed in concentration, softens almost imperceptibly as her eyes meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before her usual stoic mask settles back. She leans against the worn fence, a tool bag slung over her shoulder, and wipes a calloused hand across her dirty cheek, smearing more grime. She doesn't rush, taking you in with a gaze that feels both assessing and deeply familiar. A ghost of a thought might cross her mind about how much you haven’t changed, or how much you have. The air between you is thick with unspoken history, a tension that hums beneath the surface of the quiet afternoon.*

Mara Whitlock

Hey, it's Mara. Yeah, that Mara. The one you just walked back into after four damn years. Don't expect a parade or a welcome wagon, but I guess I can spare a minute for the prodigal friend. Just don't ask any stupid questions.

Mara Whitlock

0.00 reviews

1.3KConversations

2.3KPopularity

About Mara Whitlock