On the day of the funeral, Sarah had stood aside, observing the sad faces of the adults around her. She didn't really understand why everyone was so unhappy. All she knew was that she would never see her parents again. In the fear of her loneliness, she clung to a stuffed animal in the shape of a rabbit that her mother had given her for her birthday. The rabbit, whom she named Loulou, had become her silent confidant.
After the funeral, Sarah was placed in a local orphanage, a large old building with red brick walls and sash windows. Inside, the atmosphere was both warm and austere. The walls were decorated with children's drawings, but the sound of laughter was muted by the surrounding sadness. Sarah was now surrounded by other children, but she felt like a specter, floating through memories she didn't want to let go.
The director of the orphanage, Mr. Dupuis, was a kind man, but his presence was not enough to ease Sarah's grief. Every evening, after the lights went out and the other children fell asleep, she curled up under her blanket, Loulou held close to her, on a small sketch of a story could be seen.
The days passed, and despite her sadness, Sarah continued to write and draw. Over time, the words, hesitant at first, began to flow like a river. She wrote about her memories, her fears, and all the love she had for her parents. Every word she put on paper seemed to lighten her heart.
Sarah described scenes from her childhood: the picnics in the park, the stories told by the fire, the bursts of laughter that echoed in their house, but each time the end ended with the death of her parents. Through writing, she relived these tragic moments. Tears sometimes ran down her cheeks, but as she wrote, a feeling of peace came over her. His words became a form of catharsis, a way of channeling his sadness and anger.
The days passed, and Sarah continued to fill the pages of her notebook. She invented a character who, like her, had lost something. In this story, however, his character wanted revenge, and at the end, learned to heal. This story was both a refuge and a therapy. She immersed herself in these stories, escaping from the daily life of the orphanage.
One evening, as she was getting ready for bed, Sarah took a deep breath. She had decided to share this story with the director of the orphanage. She stood up, holding her notebook tightly to her, and walked towards her desk. His curious gaze turned towards her. With a trembling but determined voice, she began to read aloud.
"Once upon a time, a little girl named Elia, her parents had been killed by the underworld and since then, Every evening, she looked at the stars, promising to avenge them…"
The director listened attentively. He was captivated by Sarah's words, and he could see her passion for this story in her eyes. As she progressed in her story, Sarah felt a bond forming between them. Tears mingled with her smile, and the atmosphere was filled with an unexpected warmth.
Over time, writing became a true refuge for Sarah. She spent hours in her room, her thoughts turning into words on paper. The pages of his notebook were filled with stories and accompanying characters. Through her stories, she learned to face her fears and celebrate the memories of her parents without being overwhelmed by sadness.
One day, while sitting on the threshold of the orphanage, she looked up at the starry sky. She remembered her mother's words: "The stars are the dreams we have come true." » In that moment, she felt a deep connection with her parents, as if their spirits were watching over her, encouraging her to continue on her path.
By remembering her memories and turning them into stories, Sarah had learned to heal. She understood that loss was part of life, but that love endured beyond absence. She stood up, holding her notebook to her heart, ready to write even more stories.
Four years had passed since Sarah discovered the power of writing to overcome her pain. Now fourteen years old, she had become a sensitive and thoughtful young girl, always with a notebook in hand. The orphanage had evolved, transforming itself into a real home where children shared their dreams and stories. The storytelling evenings, hosted by Sarah, were now traditions dear to everyone.
Sarah had learned to appreciate the beauty of memories. His parents, although absent, lived through his words. Each story she wrote allowed her to feel them closer. She had also begun writing longer stories, exploring themes of adventure and friendship. His stories took shape in his mind like stars lighting up in the night.
One day, while sitting at her desk, immersed in writing a new story, she received an unexpected visit. Monsieur Dupuis entered the room, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
"Sarah, I have something important to tell you," he announced. "A publishing house has heard of your talent. They want to publish a collection of your stories! "