I don't really know why i'm writing a diary, i guess if i get devoured in this town like so many members of my family before then people will be able to read this and maybe understand why. I've been back in Hathian for months now, I'm 21 now, i lived in England, well i ran away to England after a bad thing happened when i was 16. I loved it there, i was free and did whatever i wanted but things didn't go as planned in the end, the drugs were good, they were so good, they made my life bearable for about a few years. I was loved by a man and i loved him back, he owned a pub, it was in the middle of nowhere, at least thats how it looked, with fields all around us. He had a one room flat to rent for about £30 a week upstairs above the pub, the only things in the room was a bed, a small TV/VHS combo in the corner on the floor and a radiator. I guess you couldn't really call it a flat it was just a room, the man lived upstairs too in a different room and we shared a bathroom. He looked like some hell's angel, long hair and a long beard. We started going out when i was 18 before that i did small jobs like washing up and cleaning and then when i was old enough i started bar work and we were already friends. He was older than me but he was my soul mate, we fit together so well, he never judged me or hurt me, its funny but i could have lived in that pub forever, it was my only real happy time, it was freedom. I never really told anyone what i did over there, and i think a lot of it is between me and him, he made me feel safe and gave me a place to lay my head. We still send messages to each other, and i still love him.

I did move out eventually and i got a house with the money i earned, it wasn't a home though it was cold, it had no life, no buzz to it and no love. I did that when my brother finally came to England, i don't remember how old i was but i guess i wanted him safe, he was young like i was when i first ran away and he needed looking after. Although i did a shit job at that, i was so fucked up on heroin. I was a pathetic excuse of a big sister. The money didn't last though, it all went into my veins. So i did something, something that wasn't even me and it scares me to think that was me, i did that. I broke into some womans house, i was so messed up, i was grieving, i still am. Money was what i needed, and i needed it for more heroin, i wanted to make the pain stop, the thing that burns a hole through me. The woman caught me and. And i started beating her up, it wasn't even me. Then i ran away with what money i found, bought heroin, got fucked up and the next thing i remember was being cuffed to a hospital bed. I don't really want to go into great detail about it, i was put in prison, i was sentenced to 3 years that kinda sums it up. Although i only served 2 and a half years and then i was released and ran away back to America on my American passport abandoning my brother who was in university and going against the rules of my probation.

I was born here and i will most likely die in Hathian because if i go back to England i face prison again, but i wouldn't want to go back, i found a new family, the crows are my family and Malice is my mother. I can't talk about my real mother, it hurts too much i can't talk about her. I remember her and i love her, i love my real mother but i can't talk about it.

(writing abruptly stops after she begins to mention her real mother)