History has its eyes on you

He was glad for Wessex's non-aggressive tone, let go an empty breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in lungs that didn't work anymore. Even better, he could help with her question. "There is...something. I'm not sure if it's what you need, but..." Sam walked to a shelf near the back of the hall, put his things down and dragged over a stool to stand on. After a moment of precarious balancing and reaching out with his fingertips he had a black book in his hands, which he brought to Wessex. The book was a dusty black with the scrawling words 'Long Night' on the front. Inside Wessex would find writing, but not any kind of words she could understand; the language was strange and unknowable. "I don't know how to translate it." Sam admitted. "But it could help you?" Samuel At seventeen, I started to starve myself I thought that love was a kind of emptiness And at least I understood then the hunger I felt And I didn't have to call it loneliness