Even though her parents were attentive, now, there was so much they managed to miss.
Emily grew more gaunt and listless, as her remorse ate away at her. Her truths were unheard, and her lies only brought trouble. She was only a child. She was not prepared for adult consequences to her mistruths.
She bore the blame just as heavily and readily as anyone twice her age, and her overactive imagination caused her to see things, so she thought.
A hulking black dog, snarling and growling, at the foot of her bed.
She didn’t tell anyone. She didn’t think she would be believed.
The truth of it was…she didn’t even believe herself.
She had an active imagination. Emily couldn’t trust her own two eyes.
Every night, since the lie that had cost a woman her livelihood and smeared her good name, she saw that dog. It steadily aged her mind and drove her mad.
Her parents found her one morning, still in bed, reading her journals full of secrets.
One long scar raked down each cheek, and a bloody needle and spool on her bedside table, the entire reel of thread used to sew her mouth tightly shut. No more lies would leave her lips.
And that is how Emily’s story began.
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