THE WALK toward the room was quiet and eerie. With my own personal guards following behind, I trudged forward silently and slowly, enjoying the sinister whispers of the brick walls, the dark hallways, the cold wind that went in from the flying curtains of the high-opened windows, and the rustles of leaves coming from outside.
It reminded me of my nights in the forest with Rita and Flint. It was dreadful, annoying, and not to mention, very painful, but in the middle of the night, when the moon was high and the birds sang, I would wake up, stare at the dark sky with the vast paint of stars, and it was beautiful. The clouds were so dark as if they could sense my heart. The wind picked up its face, blowing fallen leaves so they looked like dry tears coming from the sky. I missed that, in some
