I pace my room for the hundredth time, sighing, frustrated, and mentally working through the war
going off inside me and end up ‘arghhing’ out loud in frustration. So over this crap already and tired of feeling this strung out. I feel like the last few days' events have changed me in subtle ways, and I wish I could go back to before.
Things have not been going well since that day in the packhouse. That day changed everything in my life, and I’m a prisoner in the orphanage until further notice. Under lock and key, metaphorically, through the pain of death, should I disobey.
