I’ve been left alone with my thoughts. Again.
And what happens when I am left alone with my thoughts? But of course, I begin to think. Dream. Wonder, question, doubt. These are the moments when the wheels start turning. At last, I can embrace the hopes and aspirations derived by my own little head and, most blessedly, not my mother’s.
I sit perched in an overstuffed chair by the window, overlooking the vast expanse of the estate—from the looming, gilded gate to the acres and acres of barren trees beyond the barrier. It all belongs to me, down to the very last acorn—or, to my parents, rather. The only claim I have is the biggest one of all; I am the heiress.
A yellow star I'm forced to wear,
And in pain and sorrow share.
A mark of suffering, a badge of hate,
A death mark entwined with my fate.