Gerlof

Dressed in only the finest of materials, her hair free of tangles. She stepped out of her home into the early morning light, her blue book beneath her arm.(a book that she recorded her thoughts, ill and fair, within). In an instant, the light breeze thwarted her attempts to look pristine, blowing the golden strands of hair across her face, yet, she was not irritated, far from it.

Dear diary,

Father has not died yet.

Although a man who was named after a bird offered to kill him for me. I didn't know if I should be flattered or frightened. Whatever the case, I've forgotten how to feel either.

I refused his offer.