The jaunt towards the castle was an emotionally torturous ordeal for Elizabeth. All through the ride, she could not keep back her tears from flowing as freely as they did. Each tear was coated with the bitter currant of painstaking despair, a feeling of being completely alone, the kind that sucked her very essence inside the wormhole of depression, it was such anguish revealing her current helplessness that bullied her mind into reliving the last lines of her father's words, "You cease to become a Blythe!" That had been all her mother had demanded and that had been what she'd caused to happen at the tail end of it by her husband's hands.
Elizabeth was feeling downtrodden.
Still in shock about a whole lot of things, her father's outright rejection of her, was the kind that brooded a truly sickening emotion to thrust down her spine as it now stood.
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