The Mark that You Made. - Prologue.

Scattered rays of light peeked in from behind thin curtains, as sounds of dawn filled the air. Nearby, a young girl sat, her face downcast, eyes studying the page before her. In one hand, her chin sat firmly, while the other tapped the table below.

She was thinking; pondering what to write-what this new day may bring her-and so much more. It seemed as though the entire world were on her mind as of late. She lifted her head, and studied her surroundings.

A white bed, with wires and buttons, and machinery all about. Pale, blue walls, to try to keep things calming. A reclining chair, and window seating, for if she were to have guests. Though, she rarely had visitors. Only her mother, a few relatives, and the occasional family-friend.

Her favorite part of the room, however, was a cabinet, which held many vases and pots of flowers. Oh, how she adored flowers. They often kept her cheerful, and lively, even in the darkest of days. It was like a small piece of home to her, and she never wished them gone.

Today, however, even the flowers could not keep her mind occupied long. She was feeling restless, and she couldn't quite determine why.

As she scrunched her face is an uncertain fashion, she set her pencil to paper, and began:

Dear Journal,

I'm feeling unnerved today, and I really don't know why. Everyone is really nice here, and I'm often being spoiled. However, I still feel a sense of restlessness.

I can only imagine the possibilities for causes of this feeling, but so far most seem petty at best. Maybe I'm acting foolishly... I should be thankful I'm even here at all. Considering everything Mamma went through to get me here.

Mamma; How I miss her. She told me she'd be back soon, but it's been three days, and I've heard nothing of her. Sigh. I wish things didn't have to be this way.

I know that we can't change the past, nor the present. But I still wish so much for things to be normal. Whatever normal is, that is.

But, oh, well. I suppose since one can't always change their situation, they can always make the best of things. And believe me, journal, I am trying as hard as I am able.

There are many things to be thankful for here, and I am more than such. But I guess, in writing this, I've come to understand why I have been feeling so distraught:

I miss home.

Homesickness, how I dread you so. Can you not, just once, let me live my life perfectly content, wherever it may be? Sigh. All I wish to do is settle, but how can I do that when I long to be free?

If Eva knew I were even out of my bed, she would lecture me sternly. So why, knowing that, would you make me crave what lies beyond? Why would you tempt me so?

Sigh. This is not what I should be keeping my focus on, and it seems that writing is only surfacing my inner desires further. So I suppose I will have to talk with you at a later time.

My only thing left to tell you, and you must keep this secret, is that I hope that this is all over soon. Whether it be by cure, or... by death.

I'm not afraid of death, Journal. Rather, I am just oposite. I know what it would cause my family, though. Especially my poor Mamma... So I try not to think of that path too often. If that were the case, though, I would be fine with it. Either way, I would be going home, would I not?

I would continue, but once again, I'm rambling on when my mind should be elsewhere.

I bid thee farewell, Journal.

~Maria K.