Oakley“Rejection?” Mom’s voice is muffled by the door. It’s a hazy outline through my fogged vision while I lie back on my pillows. Blinking takes a tremendous amount of effort and makes me feel on the verge of collapse, but I keep my eyes open to slits, my gaze glued to the golden highlight surrounding my door. “But… that can’t be right. They were–Prince Ian, he was…. They seemed so happy.”I don’t recognize the other woman’s voice. It’s softer, lower, more of a rumble compared to my mother’s pitched whines while they argue back and forth. At least, I think they're arguing. My mind is a blank slate, fueled by a fever that hasn't let up in several days. My arm tingles, then begins to burn, the only sensation I can truly feel beside the ebb and flow of the fever. A sweeping, rolling feeling flows over from the tips of my toes to my head. I'm nearly dragged under into the absolute depths, unsure when I'll wake up again. “We've confirmed my cousin's story to the best of our abilities
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