At some point after the invasion but before occupation, I ran out of ink. I had no choice but to find other ways to write. I thought the ground berries would leave a mark forever, but the words were eventually lost. On the darkest of days, my own blood thinned with my salty tears left the most permanent stains. As time went by, others were shipped to our town. I boldly shook their hands and smiled but when the guards looked away, I whispered to them, beware.