Wealthy and beautiful Angela thinks no one will ever know about her dark, terrible past. Being thrown out by her stepdad and having no place to go, she is forced to do things for survival. "After developing an application which made her rich, she becomes a popular figure; of course, everyone wants a piece of the pie, even the person who hates you the most. "Angela never for a moment thought someone would threaten to expose her. Now she's being given the alternative

You will do as I say or pay the price. Her past has reared its ugly head. Angela has to find the blackmailer and deal with him by whatever means. Run Angela screamed Jessica as Angela sprinted through the woods with wind bustling through the branches of the trees, making the leaves howl in their symphony. 

Running along the gravel path in the woods makes her realize how intricate the clash between weather and nature can be. Two natural forces are both in harmony and constantly fighting. The rain would come down any second; its distinct smell filled the air. Plush, intertwining clouds pushed their grey front towards where I stood. 

The trees continued protesting against the wind as it blew their seeds. Maple seeds twirled down, only to get stuck on my clothes and in the creek. 

Angela stopped by the edge of the river; she placed a hand on her chest, her heart wouldn't stop raging against her rib cage, and she fought to keep silent a small whimper. Her heart was so loud she feared it would give her away; it was so loud in her ears; she thought the creature that used to be someone she once trusted would hear it and tear it from her.

"Who is there? She screamed, looking back, hearing footsteps getting closer. Until she stopped and looked back, there stood a man with a mask, holding a knife; who was this person? Being diagnosed with anterograde amnesia made her unable to create new memories; her past kept haunting her. is it the same person who is always killing her in her dreams?



Anterogradè

The dawn chorus is the herald of spring. It starts with a lonely, serenading minstrel, usually a blackbird. She is clear and harmonious, as fresh and sweet as the gardens she will later raid. In the neighboring tree, Her saucy fanfare dares others to match their salsa song of the canopy. 


 The competition rouses them from their slumber, opening their beaks to the heavens. The avian aria slowly becomes a fugue, bouncing through bough and bower. The lilting majesty of their song cascades into open spaces, through glassy windows, and onto the smiling lips of the dreamers within. Spring is here. 


Chapter 7 Mysterious Acquittance