When she was five none of the books she read included an underlying love story, why would one want them at that tender age? Magical rainbow fish fed her desires and the real love story was when her grandma held hands with her granddad whilst they were walking along the Seine. She whispered to her mum in hushed undertones: 'I think they're in love!'
By the age of ten she got tingles every time she sensed a ripple romance in the sub-plot, she would picture the characters together and wish, wish for them. She could feel her happiness bubbling over when they got together and found that happily ever after, never caring about what came after.
They probably got divorced.
At fourteen she honestly believed that love could solve all- and spent endless hours planning her first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first love. She watched everyone whisper, doe-eyed, through white, ****** lips, about The Taboo. And that scared her.
And then at sixteen she fell in love. With blades and drinks and smokes. After that, well, she didn't live much longer.