Mark looked at his mother with an expression he had never shown before. Beatrice stepped inside, snatched the book from Mark's hands without a word, and carried it out.
Mark didn't have the strength to chase after her. He simply knelt there, helpless.
Mark dragged himself toward the bed. He sat on the edge.
Then, a few days later.
Mark couldn't even bring himself to eat properly. The pain began to manifest as a symptom of his inner turmoil. Mark's chest felt tight, as if a chunk of concrete had been placed directly over his heart, forcing him to struggle just to draw a single, shallow breath. That tightness then spread downward, transforming into a sharp, burning sensation in his solar plexus. Every time he tried to close his eyes, memories of Seren's voice spun through his head again. Echoing inside his skull like a death knell that refused to stop ringing.
