The Price of Love Is Death

The boy, George Larson, whom I once saved as a child, when he was struggling with asthma, repaid my kindness by imprisoning me for seven long years.

"Luna, you're my everything. I won’t let you out of my sight," he said, his voice filled with obsession.

He tied my hands and feet, keeping me bound to the bed like a helpless doll, but I did not love him; I wanted to escape.

In his madness, he set fire to my family’s ancestral home. The last traces of the Sachs burned to ashes, disappearing into the wind.