Why is it that once you start crying it is so hard to stop?
And I'm not even crying for the usual reasons one would expect of a girl leaving home; I weep out of old wounds made fresh, weep for the love I never knew I was supposed to have.
Excited I was, bright-eyed and ready to make a new life in a new land - but now I am even glad. I need room to grow, and this space is but a cage over my wings.
It is a trap: this home I have dreamed in for all of my life, this house I have served from the days my broom was actually for stirring cauldrons, this pressure chamber I have shared with her for ten years. And though I've known for some time that I have to go, it pains me to think I'm leaving her behind in this trap.
She looked on without a heart, as I wept from mine.
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