A sound of a ticking clock was filling the indoors of an English cottage, while the little, raven-haired woman was pouring herself a cup of tea. An irresistible scent of cinnamon, apples and raisins, which could warm one’s heart during a cold day or night, was coming out of the teapot.

With each sip she took, she could vividly remember her mother’s soothing voice singing her lullabies while she was combing her strands, she could see her grandfather harvesting in their small, green, quiet garden, her grandmother baking the best, scrumptious, caramelised apple pie and her father’s warm hugs, which made her feel as if nothing could hurt her as long as he was standing beside her. This cottage has been through so much, that the little woman could not even imagine giving it away.

She put her cup down on the wooden table, her feet taking her away from the tiny kitchen, finding herself in the small library, in which the walls were hidden behind the shelves filled with well-kept books. Her slender fingers were sliding on them, eventually deciding on one of a Jane Austen’s novels.

She absolutely loves reading and writing. Some days, the little woman is seen sitting in this intimate library where she attentively peruses her books, not wishing to miss one line. Her eyes sink in those words, giving her soul the freedom of learning new emotions and live them for the first time or relive them endless times. Heart beats could be heard kicking her soft skin, waiting for her characters’ fate to be revealed. She loves words and the art of polishing them in such way it could steal anyone’s heart.

"Nothing could break the shallow in a better way, stroll down the deepest and well-kept thoughts that one buries inside and bring them to surface in a stunning manner as the writing does." she thinks.