Beatrice.
Beau left me with a promise of a return, my thoughts had held me captivated, I had replayed conversations with my father, scenes of neglect, and what I had thought was love on loop in my brain I didn't even hear the door open up. I didn't notice that I was no longer alone.
"My mother Antonia was an artist." A deep soothing voice squeezed itself in between the mumbling of my thoughts. "She wasn't just any kind of artist; she would take things from nature and turn them into the most beautiful sculptures. My father was a city boy, he was born in Brooklyn, he didn't see the beauty in nature the way my mother did. She was a country girl at heart, born and raised in these woods, then moved to the city to be with my father.
As tough as my father was, with the amount of power he held,
