Mary watches as Esme pulls Jack under the mistletoe. She averts her eyes as they kiss, her scowl deepening. “I know you do not like the man but he will be family soon,” her mother scolds. Mary digs her nails into her palms, her eyes locking with Jack’s across the room. "Be nice," her mother warns.

Same hair, same shirt, like he was an artefact stuck in time. He glanced at her. No hint of recognition. She took pride in that. Her fitted dress, auburn hair. Same eyes. Stronger heart. She had evolved. He hadn’t. She wasn’t an object to be preserved. No. She was more than that. #writeCBC

#writecbc My hands clench the printout. An image of a girl, me, and next to it, an artist’s image of a woman. Also me. ‘Kidnapped,’ it says. Stolen. Taken. Mum offers me lemon cake, my favourite. ‘Eat up love,’ she smiles. It tastes like ash. I smile back. My mum, kind, caring, kidnapper. Liar.

The gold key turns easy and I step onto a marble floor, polished to a high lemony shine. ‘Cif,’ I think. Oak cabinets display porcelain dolls that peer down in the vast silence. Dust sparkles across the open space. ‘Welcome.’ I start, searching for the voice. ‘My lovely new friend.’ #writecbc

#WriteCBC By the end of 2025 I will have a completed, imperfect, unpolished mystical First Draft. It will be messy and dirty and grammatically gruesome but it will be FINISHED and that is the greatest goal of mine.