Flowing through her soul, caressing the scars.
Scars deep and long, a seemingly endless burden.
But she lay there in bed, just letting the music wash over her, a gentle wave of comfort. It gave her some hope, to think that maybe, just maybe, she’d be healed some day. A spark of hope, just a tiny ember. But it was there.
She prayed that it would stay. She prayed, and believed.
Because someone was out there. Somebody listened.
She couldn’t see or hear whom.
But there was someone.


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