[center][h3][color=#9D8573]⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆[/color][/h3][/center][center][h2][b][i][color=#9D8573]Hala Sami[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center][center][h3][color=#9D8573]⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆[/color][/h3][/center][right][color=#9D8573]28 Sola, Night
The Grand Banquet, Outside[/color]
[@Tae] [@Lava Alckon] [@Tpartywithzombi] [@Helo][/right]
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[color=#035E7B]“How convenient it must be to waltz into someone else’s storm and play prophet when you’ve never lived a day in their skin.”[/color]

Hala let the silence breathe for a beat. Then came the laugh—it started low in their throat, curled upward, and spilled out in a ripple. They weren’t sure what amused them more: the way Thea said it like she was delivering some sacred truth from the mountaintop, or the fact that she actually believed it landed.

[i]You don’t know me.[/i] What a classic. As if trauma came with exclusive rights.

No one’s ever spent a day in someone else’s skin. That was the entire burden of being a person: you didn’t get to trade places, no matter how loudly you whined about it. And unless Thea had the gift of mind-sight—and given her performance so far, Thea wouldn’t be able to read even with glasses—then how would she possibly know where Hala had walked, tripped, fallen, or flown?

More likely, Thea just hated not being handled like spun sugar. So she hissed and spat. Cute.

[color=#9D8573]“Well,”[/color] Hala said once the laughing died down, [color=#9D8573]“your story’s hardly original.”[/color] Cognac eyes dragged over Thea like fingers trailing through dust. [color=#9D8573]“Let’s see… Daddy was cruel. Mommy was distant. Naturally, you reached for whatever numbed the ache. Booze. Drugs. A blade, maybe, when nothing else bit deep enough. But none of it helped. It never does.”[/color]

Hala cocked their head, [color=#9D8573]“Then somewhere along the way you found someone to latch onto. A friend, a lover, someone who promised to stick around but—plot twist—they didn’t. Because they realized this…”[/color] they waved their manicured hand at the entirety of Thea’s being, [color=#9D8573]“was exhausting.”[/color]

From beneath the folds of silk, the small warmth trembled. Hala slid a hand beneath the fabric, fingers stroking soft fur. [color=#9D8573]“Did I miss anything?”[/color] Hala paused for the drama, not to give Thea time to answer. There was no need to: جبتها على الجرح.

[color=#9D8573]“But hey, if the only time you feel loved is when people pity you? By all means, marinate. Go get your next hit—your dark-haired knight in shining armor is probably next in line, desperate to kiss, lick, and suck your wounds.”[/color] Just another tragic little heroine, high on sympathy. One of those addicts who never actually wanted to get better, only the attention that came with being broken. The kind Hala had seen far more often among the privileged. After all, when you’re handed everything, you get the luxury of flaunting your pains, big and small.

[color=#9D8573]“Since I’m apparently in the prophecy business tonight, here’s another one for free. Nothing changes until you do the actual work. Stop begging other people to love you and figure out how to do it yourself.”[/color] Boredom seeped in fast and Damsel In Distress #1341 was already blending into the background. [color=#9D8573]“Only you can save yourself in the end.”[/color]

With that, Hala turned without ceremony. One final flick of the wrist, and they faced the other two. [color=#9D8573]“Hello.”[/color][/color]