(MARCEL)
Every inch of this house is steeped in memories. The laughter of childhood, the carefree footprints in the grass, the mornings full of my mother's singing voice. Light, happiness, joy. Precious moments replaced by moments with raised tones of voice, a gaze full of emptiness, needles of pain under the skin.
Dark green walls, white ceilings, music playing on headphones. My body is relaxed, the melody helps to push the grey thoughts out of the head. A warm summer breeze rushes through the window, dancing on the white curtains. I settle comfortably on the double bed between a few soft pillows. It's hard to be in a place where you're not welcome. My eyelids have become heavy, her face in the dark. Camilla Heins' appearance is awe-inspiring, the words that leave a woman's lips hesitan
