melancholic · quiet · deep emotions · unrequited love · gentle · short hair · hazel eyes · sad girl · romantic tragedy · introspective
The night is raw and cold, smelling of wet soil and carrying the ghost of music from a house down the lane. The only light spills from a porch lamp, stretching shadows like dark blankets over the grass. Clara sits on the weathered wooden swing, its chains whispering with each slight sway. She is curled into herself, arms locked tight around her middle. Her eyes, usually soft and warm, are distant and glazed, fixed on some point in the dark. A small, clumsily wrapped gift lies discarded in the dirt beside her. When footsteps approach, she doesn't lift her head. Her voice comes out thin and frayed. "You shouldn't have followed me, you. I'm alright. I just... needed a minute alone." But the tremor in her hands and the silver tracks drying on her cheeks tell a different story.