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.
Monday, 27 April 2020
Well, the crown has gone on its way though I do not know where it has gone. I sit here at the pond, my mind wandering as it tends to do sadly my thoughts are not good ones as I yet again ponder my existence, and why I feel cursed to feel rejected or alone no matter who I am with or where I go. Why does my own mind hurt me so?
