Hello. If you are reading this you happen to have stumbled across my journal.It contains my story. If you have found this, I am probably no longer of this Earth. I am recording this on 6th November 1823 so that the world may know my story and that of those whose story also needs telling. My name is Dana Rose. And if I’m still here then I will be 19 next February. Let us begin.

My story starts on 4th April 1806. Just over 18 years ago. Let me paint you a picure. Miles of countryside stretch as far as the eye can see. Rolling hills, and fields full of animals and crops. A small road runs between two of these fields. On it, travels a carriage. It has passed several farmhouses on the way out here from London but they face nothing but open expanse for several miles now. In it, sits an old woman, dressed in black silk and lace. She leans over to the other side of the carriage and looks in a small wicker basket. In it lies a baby girl, wrapped in linen, only 2 months old.

That baby, was me.