Prologue.
When I was eight years old, a child tucked away safely into bed, I had a dream. It was so vivid and realistic that when I had awakened the next morning, I was confused as to whether it was real or not. I had a different face and a mind full of many new memories. Memories that weren't mine but strangely familiar. It was a completely different life.
You could imagine the toll that would take on an eight-year-old, the questions that such a young mind should not have and when I had told my parents about it, they chalked it up to my creative imagination. As the years progressed, I found myself dreaming of those other lives more and more. They became a part of my own life and most days, I was found scribbling down the details of the dream I had the night before, in a little red book that was always placed on my nightstand.
Each night was a new life. Wonderful, heartbreaking, suspenseful. It was like emerging yourself in a book. Getting so lost in the story, you become the main character. I got to experience every high and low they did. Every kiss, embrace and tear that was shed. Sometimes, their lives were more important than my own and I found myself wanting to relive their stories over and over again. Unfortunately, though, every story must come to an end. And even though I was sad that as I woke the next morning, their story did--it wasn't as painful as when my own story came to an end.
It wasn't as painful as when my life was ripped from me.
You can't skip to the last page in this book, that would be too easy. You need to read every word, you need to feel every emotion I felt because I can guarentee you, this isn't a fairy tale. There is no happy ending to this story.
