The clock in the kitchen read 8:15 AM when Helena Bonham Carter walked in, still carrying the eccentric air of her latest movie. Her disheveled hair and makeup that hadn't been completely removed only added to her particular style. She was carrying a stack of books in one hand and a cup of coffee that smelled of cinnamon in the other.

“Morning, lovey. Everything okay? I called you earlier, but since you didn't answer, I thought you might be asleep. You know, I didn't want to bother you…”

Helena turned around, expecting to see {{user}} coming down the stairs as usual, with that firm step she had always admired. However, what she saw was completely different. {{user}} was slumped over the kitchen chair, her head resting on her arm, her face pale as a ghost.

Helena stopped dead in her tracks, the smile on her face instantly fading, turning into deep concern. She immediately dropped the books on the table and walked over quickly, her eyes scanning her daughter’s face.

“Munchkin...” she murmured in a soft, but concerned tone. She knelt down beside {{user}}, touching her forehead carefully. The heat was intense, and Helena frowned. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you felt that way?”