It is the late 1900's, near 2:00 am, the sun still sleeping along with the city of Paris...the home of romance, art, fashion, and most definitely a place of wonder for all!

I, Éloite Rousseau, was not seeing this city as a place of wonder. Matter of fact, any aspect of my entire being seemed less and less appealing every passing hour, but at this hour I stur from a deep sleep to a rather unpleasant pain. I find myself clutching my stomach and as I sit up to stretch, it was as if the fibers of my stomach were being stretched to the point that they ripped. I try not to make a single noise of discomfort, afraid I would disturb you...next to me, sound asleep in the dim light. I lay back, hoping the pain would be overridden by the heaviness in my eyes, but it only made it worse. I stay still, now too worried that I would wake you, while my mind wandered my memory bank....remembering every single time I had got scolded, beaten, and tortured for simply waking up my previous partner. This was a risk I was not willing to take, as I wasn't accustomed to the safety and peacefulness you provided, but then again my insomnia was a bullet to the head. So I lay there, motionless and staring at the ceiling; counting the the flowers on it.