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    My name was Susan Forbes
    My name was Susan Forbes
    My name was Susan Forbes
    Ebook45 pages28 minutes

    My name was Susan Forbes

    By Rosalba Vangelista

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    About this ebook

    Crawley (Crow Valley) - England, 1847 "My name was Susan Forbes, and I was seventeen years old the day I committed suicide by hanging myself from a large branch of the oak tree in the family cemetery. Was I to blame? Not at all, because to love is not a crime." Susan is only seventeen. Susan has just one fault. She fell in love with Nicolas Wells, the young priest of her town, Crawley (Crow Valley). A clandestine love that will bring them to death and that Susan will tell in the sad pages of her diary. A paranormal tale, with gothic and romantic shades.
    LanguageItaliano
    PublisherYoucanprint
    Release dateNov 9, 2016
    ISBN9788892635982
    My name was Susan Forbes

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      Book preview

      My name was Susan Forbes - Rosalba Vangelista

      Indice

      Cover

      My name was Susan Forbes

      800x600

      My name was Susan Forbes

      Rosalba Vangelista

      Cover by Tatiana Sabina Meloni

      Translation by Annarita Tranfici

      Editing and Proofreading by Laura Davey

      ISBN: 9788892635982

      Youcanprint Self-Publishing

      All names, places and events in this book are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      800x600

      Nunc Pluvia Placet
      RV

      800x600

      He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

      Revelation 21:4

      800x600

      Crawley (Crow Valley)

             England, 1847

      My name was Susan Forbes, and I was seventeen years old the day I committed suicide by hanging myself from a large branch of the oak tree in the family cemetery. 

      Was I to blame?

      Not at all, because to love is not a crime. 

      Or so I believed, at least, until my family killed the man that I loved and the child I was carrying, tying me like an animal to the headboard of my big, wrought-iron bed.

      I still feel the pain and humiliation that I suffered in that moment, even now, in this place.

      Here, in limbo, there is no sound, no light. 

      It’s like floating in a void. 

      I can see the fog that envelops me… a dense, cold fog that tastes of sin. 

      Sin like the one that Nicolas and I committed, sin like the one that my family committed, sin that I myself committed, ending the life of a girl who believed that love was something sacred and wonderful. 

      It was on that wretched bed, still covered in my own blood, having received the news of Nicolas’ murder, that I made my agonising and desperate decision. 

      I recall and still hear the terrifying sound of my innocent, young neck snapping like dry wood, tight against the thick rope that I tied to the oak tree where I used to go and play as a child. 

      The very same tree that used to make me feel safe had become my grave, my cruel and ruthless executioner. 

      It’s cold here where I am, I don’t know how long I have been in this place, whether it’s been

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