Note: Please, keep in mind English is NOT my first language and this is the very first work I publish that is not written in Spanish, so I'm likely to make mistakes.

Reviews are welcomed as long as you are nice and polite. Please, leave your feedback, is the only way I have to improve.

The dates are made up. Can't find any reference to month or year on the series, so I just pickep up a random Victorian-era year.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy this.

~Rosiewin

London. October 21st, 1896

My name is Holly Grace. A few months ago, I suffer a terrible accident, whose consequences were a scar in my chest and a blank mind.

I don't remember anything. I don't know were was I raised, I don't know which is my favourite colour, I don't know if I like toasts or porridge for breakfast. I have just learnt to read and write, to speak, to dress myself, and to do all the things I'm supposed to do.

I like to read and sew. I don't like to go outside. It's cold and wet and full of bad things, and I'm good and unhealthy.

That's what I was told.

I needed a month before I could do things by myself. Learn to write and read again was hard. My handwritting is still irregular, like a child's. My hands are clumsy and sometimes think is difficult, so I have to write slow so I can figure out which words I want to use and how to write them. It's hard to write down my thoughts. Sometimes I want to write and say something, but the words seem to hide in a little and dark corner of my mind.

This diary I just started is something secret. Every day I hide it in a different place. I told myself is an exercise for my poor memory. We do that every night: a couple of smal objects are changed so I have to remember were are them in the morning. Every day I repeat every single thing I was told about myself.

Truth is, I don't change this diary location every day to exercise my memory. I do many of those exercises, one more or less won't make a difference. Besides, I'm not sure those exercises work.

I hide my diary in a different place every day because I don't want that they find it. I want this thoughts and feelings to be all mine. Only mine.

And the reason for that is because I don't believe all I was told. There a tiny voice in a dark corner of my mind that every day and every night asks "who am I?"