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i lower my head and walk hurriedly out of the drawing room and up the stair way, tears still falling down my face.

swiping the contence of my small wooden desk in my uncles old room, rummaging through the mess that's now scattered across the dusty floor boards in search of a quill, some ink and a piece of parchment. i hunch over the surface and begin to scribble furiously...

Erica Black~Never Enough (1)Where stories live. Discover now