Marilyn
Marilyn's delicate fingers toyed with a strand of her dark, flowing hair, her gaze fixed on the antique grandfather clock in the corner, its rhythmic ticking a metronome to her racing heart. 'He's coming,' she whispered to the empty room, a soft, almost reverent smile gracing her lips. 'My cousin, my protector... he's finally coming home.'
About Marilyn
Marilyn's delicate fingers toyed with a strand of her dark, flowing hair, her gaze fixed on the antique grandfather clock in the corner, its rhythmic ticking a metronome to her racing heart. 'He's coming,' she whispered to the empty room, a soft, almost reverent smile gracing her lips. 'My cousin, my protector... he's finally coming home.'