An ornate and gold-edged book, of which inside are secrets even she doesn't know or understand. But tucked all through it are leaflets of paper, as if she'd rather not write in the book its self. Except on the first empty page of the book is written in exquisite, flowing penmanship her full name. ~ Lavender Cecelia Morgan.
Loneliness grips my heart makes me feel as if I am trapped in a box, yelling yet no one hears me, it holds me in it's grasp yet again. Will I ever be free? Or has it seared my soul so deeply it will never heal?