⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ -Unorganized -Poorly written -Cliche I was 14 when I wrote this and I discourage reading it 😬 ------- All art is mine. Completed 07/11/2017 ----- I always used to picture my mate, my true mate. He would be powerful and incredibly handsome, perfect for me. The perfect person to make me feel complete. Every day, I was in that sick place, not looking for him, I continued to grow weaker. Soon, it was hard for me to stand up properly and walk around. Soon, I was way too thin, starved. Soon, I was losing all hope. One mark on the ground, one line, one day. I never stopped making lines, and soon enough, I had about 30. They didn't really matter to me. As a new line appeared everyday, I seemed to care a bit less about them. But hope soon was slowly coming back to me, because of the view outside window. --- I am shit at giving descriptions. But I honestly WOULD NOT recommend this book I was like 13-14 when I wrote it and had no clue what I was doing