Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
( 🎬 ) BEST VIEWED IN, ➸light mode〡any font size
MARJOLAINE MOREAU'S EXISTENCE HAD been nothing short of wretched, her fragile soul scarred by the tragedies that struck her at the tender age of thirteen. Abandoned and left to fend for herself, she endured a solitary, and miserable, life in the heart of London, the sprawling metropolis teeming with secrets and shadows.
Marjorie's daily routine was a soul-draining ritual, a symphony of melancholy that echoed through the tattered confines of her existence. Each gloomy morning, she stirred in her worn and lonesome bed, the creaking springs a mournful accompaniment to her awakening. The smell of stale air would linger in the room, mingling with the scent of broken dreams. Breakfast offered little respite from the dreariness that permeated her surroundings. A meagre slice of bread, slathered with a thin layer of butter, was what she would eat in silence, the crunch of each bite a haunting echo in the stillness of her tiny flat.
Once her hunger was appeased, Marjorie sought solace in front of a large window, a portal to the outside world that she didn't dare step foot in. The glass barrier between her and the bustling streets of the city seemed insurmountable, a stark reminder of her isolation. She watched the passersby with an envious longing, their lives continuing while hers remained paused in place.
The girl had resigned herself to a life of eternal recession, convinced that her days would stretch on in this squalid flat until the breath left her body. It was a place where dreams withered and hopes surrendered to the relentless assault of time. In the depths of her desolation, she couldn't help but believe that even death itself would find her, trapped within the crumbling walls, her miserable existence fading away like a forgotten whisper.
