CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Myra’s pov

The room was small. Compact.

Like a tiny box.

But it was okay.

Far better than the room I used to know; and in a home far bigger than the one I used to stay. Yet the thought of this being home disturbed me.

The walls were too far away, and from each other; painted pink, from the ground up; and along with almost everything else. And I wondered why?

Maybe because I was a girl, and they thought I loved pink?

When in fact I hated it.

When to me. It was dull, exaggerated, and mostly lifeless. Like fuel diluted with water. Losing its actual value. It's real brightness.

I wasn't comfortable at all.

This wasn't my place.

This wasn't the place that I had known my whole life. I knew nobody here. I was an outcast from the outside in. I was hated by everybody. I moved and felt like a living problem. A mistake.

A curse.

I didn't like the wide spaces, the big grasslands, the stone walls, the armored guards -that stood stiff as the staues beside them - and I didn't like how everyone