912,619 people died that year but history won't remember a single one. Except I will. He will. She will. And they will. I always wanted to be just like him, but they wouldn't let me. I didn't get why, but it doesn't matter anymore. People trust me with their secrets; they really shouldn't. If I could change one thing, it would be writing my own secret down. Because last night, I dreamt I was getting attacked. That's when I woke up. But it was ok, because he was laying right next to me, and I felt safe. Or did I? Was I?

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.