According to Irene's report… Morvena might like girls, just like me.
But the thing is, nothing was ever confirmed, not directly. There are only hints, fleeting moments recorded in her diary, tucked away between her daily routines and quiet interactions with the few people she trusted.
Because… of course.
She was sheltered, guarded, rarely allowed to step beyond the walls of her family's estate. How could she even begin to understand herself then? To explore what she really wants, what she truly feels?
Even Irene, who read everything… said the girl herself didn't seem certain.
And she said… it's only a 90% chance.
Ninety percent that she's like me.
That she could love me.
That we could… be something more.
Well, at at first glance, that number should be reassuring. It should feel close. Comforting.
But I don't know…
It doesn't seem like so.
To me, that ninety percent number is still too damn small.
Because… it now holds everything.
All my hope.
All my fear.
