Ophelia had been watched her whole life and had never once been seen, and the difference between those two things was the single most important lesson she had ever learned about her own body. Being watched was something that happened to her, a passive thing, a thing that men on the street did when she walked past them and boys in school corridors did when she bent over her books and her mother's friends did when they came over for dinner and commented on how she had grown before they asked a single question about her life. Being watched was weather. It happened to her the way rain happened to her, and there was nothing she could do about it except endure it and wait for it to stop. Being seen was different, because being seen was a choice, and being seen was standing in a doorway and deciding exactly who got to look and exactly how much they were allowed to see and exactly how long the looking was permitted to last.
Support helps me create the kind of stories that breathe fire, raw, emotional, and unafraid of desire. My goal is to write with honesty, explore the depth of power and surrender, and build a space where readers who crave intensity feel seen. Every bit of support lets me go deeper into the world I’m crafting… and stay committed to telling the truth of these characters.
Write a comment ...