Author in the making...

Northwind come carry me. Take me south.  Take control. Choose a route, Cause they'll find a way to bury me. So, give me air. Give me distance from my dispair

New summary:  “The Lives of Butterflies

A poem written by a character

Selma is going through a bit of an identity crisis. What a difference three days can make…

“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”

Prologue EDMUND HALL, BOSTON, AMERICA, AUGUST 1828 Mathilda sits up in her bed. There was a noise. Voices, perhaps. Her heart beating through her chest, she holds her breath and listens carefully, past the pulsing beating in her ears.   A noise. Or was it a scream? Something startled her. There! Again. She hurries out of bed and to the window, stumbling over the book she had been reading long after she should be sleeping. Pressing her face against the glass, trying to find the origin, she sees the courtyard is quiet. Where is the sound coming from? Again... It is horrible. Heartbreaking. She feels it in her bones. In her soul. Something terrible is happening. Something frightful. She finds her robe and hurries out into the hallway. Making her way downstairs, to the other side of the house - she can see towards the stewards house from there, and the stables, which are lit up by torches. Why are the lights on? This is where it is happening. Whatever tragedy is transpiring, this is the place. And then she hears voices, and the loud grunts. No! NO! She turns, running, and crashes into someone’s arms. The soft embrace holds on to her, pulling her closer. «Mathilda…» She tries to free herself from Danni’s arms. «Let me go! He is killing her» She continues to struggle, but Danni holds on to her. «Baby…» She rocks her back and forth, while Mathilda tries to fight her way out. «Sshhh…» «Let me stop him», she cries, but Danni does not let go. «Baby... She caught the sickness. They all did.» Mathilda’s feet give way under her and they fall together to the floor. Could it all be part of a dream? Please, let it be a dream.

So my birth name isn’t Hagelin...