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"Dear, No one."
Anne Fiore, an eight year old girl, muttered as she wrote a letter. Anyone who could see doing this would be incredibly confused as to why she's saying the words she's writing, then again she is a young girl so they could blame it on immaturity.
"How are you doing? I'm sorry I didn't reply right away, were you waiting for my letter? If so, then yay. If not, then boo." Anne giggled as she continued writing.
"My parents were strict, it's kind of annoying. They wanted me to meet ugly fatties. Those smelly and dirty fatties wanted me to play the zither for them. I don't want to but my parents said that it's fine, so I guess it's fine. But I don't want to meet them again, I don't like the way they stare at me."
She pouted as she wrote, she briefly stopped and adjusted the lamp nearby her desk.
