". . . a long time ago that I don't write things forbidden to other people . . ." she thought.
Poor child, had hardly been aware that in all that time she didn't do anything else. The mistake was hidden in every gesture, in every thought, in every word . . . in every page written.
"Was sad, but it was easier to remain the same little girl walking through the silent streets, throwing rocks into the lake and waiting for the bus . . . or a carriage . . or nothing" she said.
Nobody said it was easier
But on the other hand, didn't live a good story (or a bad history) would have been much worse than never had having anything else.
At the crucial moment of his attitude, she open her eyes and realizes that the red curtains were open.
"How could she deliver such a fragile broken thing?" They said.
"How could I give such a fragile broken thing?" She said.
Then she jumped off the stage and fell into a multitude of words, poisons and tears..
Some people say that she still walks around
searching for a lake
. . . and little rocks.
*the curtain falls*