Ilayda

After dinner we all sit around in the living room, just waiting until the clock strikes 12 (hypothetically) and I will be whisked away. Cyn finally grabs the journal that has been sitting on the coffee table. Her fingers play with the tie on the front of the journal that keeps it closed.

“Ila, this is for you,” she says softly as she hands me the journal.

“But I can't, this is yours,” I stammer, looking down at the worn leather binding. I’ve never seen her without this. The idea of her just giving it to me confused the daylights out of me.

“Just open it and you will understand,” She smiles.

Frowning, I look at her for a moment, trying to read her expressions before sighing and carefully open the journal. My eyes widen as I sift through the pages. Hundreds of carefully crafted drawings show an entire wardrobe. Beautiful gowns to simple everyday attire this entire book is filled with them. What shocks me the most is that I am the model in every single drawing. I look up at Cyn, her e