She closed her eyes gently. Her fingers were still swollen, and they hurt at the slightest movement, straight to her heart.
She placed the sketchbook to her chest and hugged it, seemingly feeling closer to him. However, she knew that he had never allowed himself to open up to her.
Not even a bit.
Everything was a pretense. A fraud. Why did she feel love and pain?
Her face was pale and white like paper, without any color. Her hand went to her forehead, and she touched the wound gently with her fingers.
It hurt, just a bit. So this was how it feels.
She smiled bitterly. Lucia was an ugly duckling. Her father’s not fond of her, and her mother did not love her. Nobody even liked her bald head. Isn't that funny?
No one loved her, and she should not have survived. Was this what everyone
