Steady hands, stormy thoughts, and quiet words. I write between the wounds and the wonder, stitching letters with quiet ache. Ink is where my truth softens into fiction, where every line carries what I never said. Scribbling what-ifs and almosts.
- facebook: صفحة frances على فيسبوك
المُتابَعون
قم بالتسجيل كي تنضم إلى أكبر مجتمع لرواية القصص
أو
قصص بقلم frances
Shadows of What Could Have Been
Celestial Anestia Howkingson was born beneath the relentless glare of the spotlight, into a world where fame...