marytastic
The pastel paper inside the envelope felt smooth beneath my fingers. It was think enough that the ink of the pen didn't bleed, and the pen didn't leave an indent. I held my breath as I removed the letter.
I wished upon a pattern. It was silly, childish. Cats dancing on musical staffs. But as I sat on the hard floor of the pantry, clutching that apron around me like a shield from the blows, I wish one simple thing. I wished to be free.