The only thing... the only creature... that made this wretched existence bearable was him. Fuite. (Fuite means
freedom/escape in french)
He was my Fuite. My escape. My salvation. When I first heard that name, I thought it was odd.... sharp,
foreign, almost artificial. But now, I say it like a prayer. Fuite. Fuite. Fuite.
Oh, how ridiculous it sounds written down. How stupid and naïve and utterly mad. But I don't care. I can't
afford pride... not when he is the only reason my heart still beats.
He became everything. My breath. My warmth. My protector. My god.
It started with a letter... no, not a letter. A scream, written in ink.