A small, tan coloured book, completely unadorned. The binding is worn and aged, the pages slightly tattered and curling towards the edges. Several small notes peek out here and there from between the sheaves of parchment and pieces of torn blue silk mark places within.
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
He twists my insides. I dance like a marrionette, my strings, the ones attatched to all the ..all the..twisted and tugged, pulled. Yesterday...yesterday there were so many words..he said he was.....until..and now ..what ...gods I am too scared to question him for fear of what it says about my own confused muddle emotions...another string pulled.
I dont trust my mind enough to make judgement and not leave myself the foolish enchantress once more.
Celestia posted @ 11:01 -
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