Dear George,
The rose is starting to wilt and a petal fell. My days are numbered but I find it strangely beautiful that this rose predicts the day of my death. At least it smells pleasant. I hope they murder me in a bed of these roses...That’ll be nice.
Clara
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Letters #Wattys2014
Teen FictionTwo teenagers from two different walks of life write to each other. These are the letters they wrote.
