When you lean in close to my ear and allow me to believe that I can trust you; that the words that will fall from your mouth like a liquid, fast and flowing will be precious and sacred, it is the definition of betrayal.

I pray that when I claim your threats do not scare me, I will cease to be terrified, but they jab at me, as a forked tongue would. I hear the hissing in my ear, which was at first a pleasant change from the persistent drone, but quickly became something much more painful. Where there should be a paternal love, I find a gaping hole. A hole that you and I constantly work to fill, like shady men in the night, hurriedly disposing of the evidence that could rob them of their freedom. Our relationship is a ***** secret.

Whilst I could be a rich girl living off sympathy alone, you have selfishly taken that right from me, in one swift and cunning move. With one forced smile - one ****** movement - that emphasises the creases in your forehead (which, I hear, though I struggle to remember, once kept me entertained for hours), you convince them that all is more than well.

Why pretend that your heart is heavy with pride if the word is not a part of your vocabulary? Why take to grinning if the upwards inching of the corners of your mouth is so unnatural of a feeling to you that it feels like a chore - uncomfortable and laborious?

These people have no care for your state of mind, nor do they care at all about your quality of life. Your time, surely, would be much better spent attending to your sick home than attending to your royal reputation that, when you consider what you have in reality, is worthless.

You bare to me the resemblance of a curious child whose dreamy head is filled with images of faraway lands, glittering treasures and sand. Stop. Perhaps now is the time to awaken from your slumber. The grains are fast slipping through your fingers.

I'm not sorry.