Prologue Discard this message... Amazingly, I was almost completely by myself. "Lila," I said, "you know where I'll be." She didn't answer, but nodded her head wisely. She has learned to leave well enough alone in the time she knew me, a trait I am wonderfully happy to report. I don't know if she did know where I was going, but she broke no rules by letting me alone. As I climbed the stairs higher and higher, I was amazed that I still had to think about where I was going. I grew up in a large house, but I knew it like the back of my hand, and could navigate it blind. It was not so here, and while I believed (for you can never know for sure) that I had seen every room in the manor, it was not mine- this was to be understood, at least before the next heir in line is granted power- and I lived in a small part of it. I had to think before I took a turn or I may find myself exactly where I don't want to be. Maybe you know how it is. I, however, found the room I was looking for in no time. I had set it up with a servant the first month I moved in, and if anyone else knew about it (and who am I kidding, they probably did) they didn't seem to care. It was this was with a lot of things in my life. But I am still in love. I think it's going to rain, rain down... All my old things. I was not supposed to keep these, for when I came everything had to be provided new. "It's just the way things are done, dear." How many times have I heard that in my lifetime? Too many, that's entirely for sure. Anyway, I knelt down on the ground and pulled out a small box from under a pile of my paintings. It was flat like a briefcase. I pulled a necklace from my robes. It was an adequate stone, in the shape of a star, set in gold. Another tiny fleck of colored gem graced each point on the star. "I would give anything for it not to be pink." I could remember writing this. As I unlocked my box, I pulled out another memory, and a huge part of my life. My book of reflections. The cover was plain. I cringed at the very memory of a plain cover. It shouldn't be like this. And we watch our lives bleed out through our hands

That's how it was on the first day... I stood up, my book of reflections thick and heavy in my hands. I glanced at the door. Who would come up? I pushed the worried feeling, the wariness, that constantly plagued me- this, that- into the back of my mind. To be careful, and constantly on guard, is one of the wonderful- and quite useful- expertises that I had been educated in. These were the ways it was just done, you know. I sat down on a dusty couch that I normally wouldn't have looked at, and opened the cover. In doing so, I fairly opened up my past. It was almost difficult, however one of the many phrases I had recorded in my lifetime, half to amuse my friends, and half because, maybe, I found a hidden meaning in each, stuck in my brain. Don't believe in weakness, it costs too much. Never having been in want myself, I somehow don't think this phrase had anything to do with money. I had learned the hard way in my rather short life that you stay strong or you get hurt. It's a fact of life. Maintain composure. On the first page, I hadn't written anything interesting. A few boring passages from some book, and a copybook handwriting practice, where I had drawn slanted ovals on the page like they teach you in second grade. It was supposedly to make my handwriting correct. The passages, my mind "pure." This word, too, was all too familiar. I knew what was deeper inside this book, how could I not remember? I swear, I'm a more interesting person than that. I remember the first, very first words I really wrote. The 30th page. There was script, my own practiced, perfect script, on all other 29, but the 30th page is where I started to write. Now its time to wrap our fears in the night... Discard this message

Throw this bottle back in the ocean

Rip this page from the history books

Smash all the street signs

Erase all the maps

Forget my name

Forget my face

Because it's going to rain

And it never ends