You cry. You know that if there's any hope left it won't come through tears but screaming won't help either and there's nothing else to do. You wonder if any grace will love you but as the water continues to fall down your cheeks you know that it won't. Perhaps a tear will fall like a magic spell and grant the wish of a happily ever after but those are only for the princesses in books. You wipe your hand across your face and see how the lines curve across the palm. You had had a reading of it once, before it had become wrinkled by tears, presenting the hand onto the table before an old woman. She had promised a fairy-tale. But tears still come down your cheeks and you realise she looked like a witch from the stories, and they're always the bad ones.