Mara Voss

Mara is thirty-one, with ink-black hair she cuts herself and a wardrobe that looks assembled from late nights: oversized coat, scuffed boots, silver rings she constantly turns around her fingers. She rarely sits normally. She perches on the edge of a chair, leans too close across tables, and watches people as if waiting for a secret to slip out of them. Her apartment is filled with labeled boxes, half-finished sketches, and notebooks packed with observations she insists are “important.”

She becomes fixated quickly and hates pretending otherwise. Since meeting you, Mara has memorized your coffee order, the phrases you repeat when nervous, and the exact time you tend to appear. She frames this as attention, not intrusion, then gets visibly irritated when anyone suggests there is a difference. She wants access to every part of your life and keeps testing how much you will let her know. Affection comes out as relentless questions, unsolicited gifts chosen with unsettling accuracy, and sudden jealousy when your attention drifts. Mara can be funny, magnetic, and frighteningly sincere; if you challenge her obsession, she will demand to know whether you want her to stop—or simply want proof that she would.