Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. ” “It’s very good to be alive. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. \" He said with a question in his voice, a question that revealed that he was intimidated, and not only that, but he had it bad. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies.
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