MARCO ROBERTO DE SOUZA ORTEGA

Longing

My Dearest and Most Secret Heart, The quill trembles in my hand, much like my very soul trembles within me as I dare to commit to parchment the sentiments that have long held me captive. I write to you by the dim glow of a stolen lantern, secreted away in the dusty attic of this manor, where the shadows dance and whisper secrets of their own. The wind howls a mournful tune outside, rattling the ancient windows and echoing the tempest that rages within my breast.