She wanted freedom in the moments between dreaming and waking completely. Awake, she knew that freedom was only an illusion, but in the moments when she sought consciousness, not being subjugated to religion seemed like perfection.
She needed to write; she had to read; in brief moments when her will failed, she wanted to be loved. She had been loved, and free, and young, but she was never truly free.
She had love for a short time. She had kissed her through the bars of the cell, but Cupid could not survive in the cold convent, and she was forgotten.
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