Rosaline, my little Russian doll. Nut-coloured ringlets shining against her smooth, porcelain skin, her full little mouth stretched into a smile, her deep, violet-blue eyes, her only real trace of me, shining out from between thick, ebony lashes. Her heart-breaking, heart shaped face screwed up, her lips pressed together, tears in her little almond eyes, her tiny body trembling. I wanted to kiss her tears away, to hold her, to stop her from shaking. To promise her everything would be fine. But I knew I had to leave her. I could not stay, and she could not leave. I gazed at the two faces I loved, hers, delicate, distraught, and his, the emotions hidden everywhere except his beautiful blue eyes, showing his soul so clearly I could hear the cracks as his heart broke apart. I did not want to stay, I knew that, but how I wanted to stay. I prayed that she would remember me. I prayed that the next time I saw her face it would not be twisted with puzzlement at the stranger who called her 'daughter'. I prayed that the man I loved, the only man I could ever love, would not find another, would not grow tired of the eternal waiting, of the knowledge that he would never have me. I prayed that… my life would grow no worse than this, this personal hell that lived inside me, causing me more damage than any soul should ever see. I can write the saddest lines tonight...