Elowyn shut her door hard, the latch clicking into place like a final breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her satchel dropped to the floor.

She stumbled to her desk, yanked out the battered book and a small pot of ink, her hands moving too fast, almost frantic.

The quill scratched to life against the page.

"Dear Mia,

I couldn't write for some days now. Please, forgive me. I thought I'd go mad if I tried to. Everything presses down, everything swallows. I am losing my head-losing ...