Her slender fingers glided over the front cover of the battered novel, memorising every detail. The slight ridge of the title, the small rip that had formed at the top of the page, and the colours that had faded over the years from the days it spent sitting on the window sill of her bedroom. It was one book from a series of seven but it felt like a part of her being. She rarely let on about how much these books meant to her, to others it was simply a series of books that she enjoyed to read but to Olivia it was so much more than that. The ruffled, battered pages proved that. The spine hanging to its last threads proved that. This book saved her life.