It had been three long weeks since Cara had jinxed Isla's brother Alistair by producing a large, impenetrable bubble around him, which promptly buoyed him up to the ceiling, trapping him between the rafters beneath the first floor. Their fellow fifth years had taken to calling it "the bubble incident," which amused Alistair to no end, but Cara felt bad... and she had expressed as much when she apologized to him afterwards.

They'd had a lengthy conversation about Alistair's sister and why she felt the need to deny her feelings for Cara—feelings which were obvious to both Alistair and Cara—and that had illuminated the situation to some degree, but it hadn't kept Cara from feeling very raw about the whole thing... nor had it mended the tense silence between the two girls that had hung in the air since early May.

They ignored one another when they passed in the halls and on the grounds. Neither had stopped stealing furtive glances at the other during meals, but now they were equal parts longing and frustration, rather than the simple, butterflies-inspiring looks that two people who were interested in one another often shared.

Truth be told, the whole situation was wearing on Cara. In addition to a mounting sense of dread regarding her upcoming O.W.L.s, this spat with Isla was the first time that Cara had ever really felt something signifcant for another person... and certainly the first time she'd had thoughts about another girl.

A lot of thoughts.

Constant, unending thoughts...

... and dreams. God, the dreams.

To the point: the immense stress buckling Cara's knees had extended to her powers as a metamorphmagus. It wasn't the first time that she had been so anxiety-ridden that she couldn't transform, but it was definitely the first time in a while. In all, she seemed somehow less vibrant; her gait was more subdued, her thick, thick hair somehow more lank. Her big, expressive hazel eyes had grown dimmer, it seemed, with less fire behind them.

Cara was not handling the emotional weight of this conflict well.

She walked, now, down the sixth floor corridor, hoping to find some solace in the north tower on the seventh floor, where only a handful of students ever bother to congregate outside of classes. As it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, she expected that she would be quite alone in the north tower today, and she could get some studying done—and do her best not to think about Isla Spectre.

Tall, pretty Isla Spectre.

Dammit!

A noise behind Cara caught her attention, and she turned sharply to regard whoever had imposed upon her thoughts in the empty corridor, only to spy... Isla?

The week off of school had been refreshing to Isla, and now she simply could not wait for summer. Sure, she  got sunburns as quickly as she got freckles, but that wasn't anything that a salve couldn't help. The break had gotten her mind off of a certain fifth year, even though she had pestered Alistair all about her. It turned out that her brother was utterly useless when it came to actually knowing anything about the girls in his year. So Isla still didn't know what to really think about all of this.

None of Isla's friends were available to wander the castle with her, so she decided now was a good time as any to be left alone with her thoughts-- and maybe seh could find a place in private to write letters to Seanair in order to secure a place within his top three favorite grandchildren. A lofty goal, given all the Spectre cousins... But she thought she could make it.

She turned around the corner of the corridor only to see Cara.

And Cara saw her.

Isla let out a small squeak, squinted her eyes, and gave Cara an awkward wave. The other girl didn't look well. In fact, she almost looked sick. Her expression shifted, worried lines forming on her brow. "Are you okay?" She asked, voice hesitant and soft.