I run a hand through my hair, my dad walking into the room, "Isa, I need you to--" His eyes land on Will and his expression soon changes into a sneer, "What are you doing near her?"
I swallow, "Daddy, just--"
"No, Isabel. Home. Now," He mutters.
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights