The eerie house was always filled with melancholy on the day of her birth. The persistence of memory creeps back and eats away at her fathers heart for the entirety of the faultless day. This year, intrigue over-stepped it's boundary. The girl heard the sobering sounds of her fathers weep from the other room, she made an inept arbitration to wander in. She was inherently often curious. Her father was sitting on the couch, holding a red paper crown, weeping a constant sob.
Paper Crowns is the short story that I'm working on for my portfolio.