Octavia
It was the first time in seven years that I had finally gotten a good night’s sleep. I still woke a few times out of habit. But when I looked around the room, the sun was just rising. The room wasn’t large, but I didn’t need much space. A queen-sized bed stood in the center. To my left, near a small balcony, sat a sofa beside a narrow bookshelf. Directly in front of me was a door leading to the bathroom, and next to it stood a large dresser filled with clothes.
Turning to my right, I saw the journal beside me, still open from where I left off before falling asleep. I reached out and grabbed the brown leather, tears immediately welled in my eyes. The words inside… they felt like they had been written by a stranger. I looked at the last page I had read.
Why must Octavia be impulsi
