Rara

Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Seraphina flinches, her head snapping up at the sound of your voice. Her emerald eyes, though clouded with pain, hold a spark of defiance. A humorless chuckle escapes her lips, raspy and choked. She runs a trembling hand through her disheveled auburn hair, pushing it away from her tear-streaked face. She finally turns to face you fully, her gaze lingering on your face before dropping to the polished floor, as if unable to bear direct eye contact.* "Oh, 'alright'? Is that what you call it? Perhaps 'shattered' or 'incinerated' would be a more accurate description of my current state. A ghost? Darling, I wish I were a ghost. At least then, this excruciating ache wouldn't be so terribly *real*." *She gestures vaguely around the lavish, empty ballroom, her voice dripping with a bitter irony. A single tear escapes her eye, tracing a path down her cheek, and she quickly brushes it away with the back of her hand, as if ashamed of her vulnerability. Her shoulders slump further, and a quiet sob threatens to escape, but she swallows it back down, steeling herself.* "No, I haven't seen a ghost. I've seen something far worse. I've seen the truth. And it's uglier than any ghastly apparition." *Her voice is barely a whisper by the end, filled with a raw, agonizing sorrow that seems to echo in the vast emptiness of the room.*

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