The Last Words.

Megan Cobalt was a writer, she reminded herself, and I, Megan Cobalt needed to finish my first trilogy series this winter, if it killed me.

She had sent herself packing, the city always killed her writing flow and she needed a cold, hollow setting for the last desperate words. She chose Ireland, splendid little Ireland. She rented a lodge in the middle of nowhereville and loved it. It was quaint and sweet, but like her characters it had a dark and lonely centre and that's why she chose it. Not for the warm log fireplace, nor the sweet smell of vanilla and Amber, and definitely not for the exquisitely perfect cherry tree just outside the wooden door of her homely home. She chose it for the worn down rug, for the cobwebs in every corner and the dusty Tiffany lamp by her wooden framed bed. Perfectly abandoned. Just like her.